Finola Frost and the Secret of Lupin's Phial Chapter 1
by IrishBelle
Summary: American Finola Frost gets the shock of her life when she hears from Minister of Magic Hermione Granger that she's a witch, and has been invited to study at Hogwarts. Currently under MAJOR editing of first 11 chapters to clean up content/plot issues. Friendship/hurt/comfort. Possible romance for Snape with new professor. AU, alternate timeline.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Finola Frost and the Secret of Lupin's Phial**

 **Category: Books**

 **Rating: K**

 **A/N:** This story takes place in the _Harry Potter_ universe, after the second Wizarding War. It is an AU, in that with the exception of Voldemort and perhaps a few others, everyone lives. Muggles are knowledgeable about the Potter-verse, but consider it pure fiction. This is also a pro-Snape/Snape as mentor story, although he is not the only mentor figure.

Pro-feminist story; many if not most of the main characters are female. The MC is a Christian, so there is some discussion of Christianity and Christian elements. The MC is heavily autobiographical.

Protagonist is American; therefore, American spelling and terms are used. (Ex.: A jumper is a dress worn over a blouse, a biscuit is a bread roll instead of a cookie).

Warning: Some ableist language/behavior.

Chapter 1:

Red. Blue. That funny bluish-green, and that brownish clay color. Gray. Red. Eleven-year-old Finola Jane Frost knew the fake mosaic floor of her school cafeteria as well as her own home. That only made sense, considering she found herself face down on it so often, like today. Her crisp white blouse and navy school jumper were crumpled and her hair a mess, but that was nothing compared to her heart.

"If you can't stand up, how can you read?" The tall girl looming over Finola sneered, dropping the library book she'd stolen into a nearby garbage can. It landed smack in the middle of leftovers from Meatloaf Monday. Finola's chest squeezed. Now she'd have to pay for it out of her allowance, because none of the teachers would believe what really happened. She pushed herself up, trying to ignore the pinching and burning of her leg braces. Yet the more she tried to ignore it, the more the braces hurt, as if a million bugs were feasting on her ankles.

"Aw, whatsa matter, Freaky Frost? Did your little hair bow get knocked off?" Denise Stanford, the worst Queen Bee in the entire fifth grade, yanked the royal blue ribbon Mom had carefully braided into Finola's hair for picture day. The ribbon fell, its faux seed pearls scattering everywhere. Finola edged toward Denise, only to stumble over a pearl. Denise snatched Finola's glasses.

"Obviously, those aren't helping, either," Denise cracked. The students nearby lost it laughing.

 _Okay, that's it._ Finola pulled herself to full height and tried to use her iciest voice. "Give me those right now, you odious toad!" Big vocabulary always got bullies in books to back down. Unfortunately, Denise was a real bully, and she just laughed.

"Ooh, 'odious!' Freaky Frost thinks she's smarter than us." She widened her eyes and put on a vacant expression, singing in a high, thick imitation of a speech impediment. "Frosty the Freak Girl, thinks that standing up is hard/acts all smart and proper, but is really a re-tard!"

"I mean it, Denise. Give me my glasses, and while you're at it, retrieve my library book. Now!" Finola jabbed a finger at her enemy.

The other students continued laughing, but Finola could no longer hear them. She had frozen in shock, because suddenly, her glasses were floating toward her, landing where they belonged. As she gaped, her library book did the same thing. Perfectly clean, it looked fresh off the printers'. And as for Denise…

 _Croak! Croak, croak!_ A huge green toad croaked furiously from the floor, its bulbous eyes seeming to glare at Finola. Finola's knees buckled again, and that horrible mosaic floor rushed to meet her.

"And then all of a sudden, there was a toad," Finola said later that day. The lunch monitor had found her and sent her to the nurse, after which Mom came to take her home.

"That snippy little girl probably made you hit your head," Mom said in a tight voice. "Fin, why don't you go up and lie down for a while?"

"But…"

"Now, Fin," Mom insisted, though gently.

Finola forced herself up the stairs and to her room at the end of the hall. The place enveloped her like the sanctuary it was. Her American Girl dolls smiled down from the oak shelves Dad had built a few years ago. Gramma's quilt, a collection of emerald, ruby, and sapphire starbursts on creamy white, invited her to curl up underneath with one of her many books. She crossed to the bookcase, intending to choose a favorite, but snapped her head around at a pecking noise. A huge snowy owl sat outside her window—would have flown in, in fact, had the window been open.

"Athena, get back here!" a female voice with a British accent hissed.

"Maybe I did hit my head," Finola mused. It wasn't impossible. Denise and her mean girl gang liked to hit or shove her, and then blame the bruises on cerebral palsy-induced clumsiness. Usually, the Disability Services worker at school believed that story, and assigned Finola extra physical therapy, usually during English so she had to miss her favorite class. She shook off the negative thoughts. Surely all she needed was sleep.

Finola read a bit, but indeed, her body and eyes were too heavy to let her concentrate long. She nodded off, until the insistent pecking at the window woke her again. She pushed herself up on her elbow and fumbled for her spectacles. Her clock radio read 5:49 PM. Dad was home from work. Had she truly slept that long?

"Finola? Honey?" Dad's voice sounded a bit confused. "Someone's here to see you."

The woman in the living room looked normal. Skin dark and beautiful as teak made her dark eyes, framed with sable lashes, stand out. Bushy, curly hair was caught up in a bun. But covering the bun was a black velvet…witch's hat? It matched her black, red-and-gold trimmed cloak, on which she wore a gold lapel pin. The pin's insignia read **M.O.M.** Finola shrugged. Maybe she had little kids, and they gave her the pin for Mother's Day or something.

"Hello, Finola," the woman said, extending a hand. "It's a pleasure."

"Nice to meet you." Finola shook the woman's hand before stepping back. Her own mom drew her over and put a protective arm around her.

"Now, who are you again?" Dad's voice, while not unfriendly, carried authority.

The woman smiled. "Hermione Granger-Weasley, Minister of Magic, London."

Ah, M.O.M.—Minister of Magic. But…London? A memory smacked Finola in the face. "Then I did hear a voice outside! It was you!"

The Granger-Weasley lady chuckled. "It was indeed." She took a sticklike object from the folds of her cloak, mumbled something, and waved it. The snowy owl from before swooped in and landed on her shoulder. "And this is Athena, one of our best Hogwarts owls."

"Hogwarts?" Where had Finola heard that name? It came back to her in a rush. "Hogwarts…Hermione…you…no, that can't be. That's fiction. You aren't real. I'm dreaming, or I have a concussion, or something."

But Hermione just gave Finola that compassionate smile again. "I assure you dear, I am real, as is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As it happens, I am here because you have been accepted there."

"What?" Finola and her parents exclaimed at the same time.

"May I?" Without waiting for real permission, Hermione Granger-Weasley sat down—in Dad's La-Z-Boy, no less. As if ordered, Finola and her parents sat on the opposite couch.

"Finola," Hermione began, "this will come as a shock, I'm sure. It did for me when I was your age. You are a witch."

Finola searched Hermione's eyes for a sign of teasing. Yet the woman's gaze remained unyieldingly serious. Maybe she was delusional or something. After all, she believed Hogwarts was real.

"No," Finola said. "There's no such thing as witches, unless you count people like Wiccans, and I'm not one of those. I just became a Christian two years ago. Besides, witchcraft is wrong…the real kind," she hurried to say, not wishing to offend Hermione. "Mom and Dad let me read your books, but only because they knew they were fantasy, and only after our pastor said okay."

Hermione nodded. "That's understandable, and I commend you, Mr. and Mrs. Frost, for wishing to protect your daughter. Some parents and relatives aren't as attentive as you have been, especially…" She trailed off. "The magical training at Hogwarts will not damage Finola's soul, eternal or otherwise, or who she is as a person. Nonetheless, Finola, you are a witch."

"But that's impossible," Finola insisted. Her eyes darted around the room. "Look, if I were a witch, I could do this, like in _Matilda_." She fixed her eyes on Mom's coffee mug, sitting on a nearby end table, looking at it so hard her head ached. "Tip over, mug, tip over," she coached—but it didn't.

Dad stood then. "All right, Miss Granger-Worthy, whoever you are…"

"Granger-Weasley, and it's Missus," Hermione corrected, voice edged in steel.

"Missus," Dad echoed. "Enough games. I understand that you want to make Finola feel special and important—as she is. You might not know, but we have a highly gifted daughter. The thing is, she's also been through more than any girl her age should in her life." He and Mom exchanged a long look. "She was born with cerebral palsy, and mild though her case is, it's made her life extremely difficult. We don't need—Finola doesn't need—you or your Hogwarts or anything else making her situation worse."

Hermione—when had it become so easy for Finola to call the woman that in her head—nodded. "Yes, Mr. Frost. We are aware of Finola's gifts and her disability. At Hogwarts, we shall endeavor to serve both. I don't intend to play games." She turned to Finola. "Finola, tell me this. Has anything ever happened you couldn't explain? Have you ever done something you didn't mean to do, especially when you were angry or scared? Think back to when you were quite small."

Finola opened her mouth to deny such a thing, but memories took over. Her first clear one happened when she was about two. She'd just gotten the cerebral palsy diagnosis, Mom told her later, and her first pair of leg braces. She'd been trying to get down the stairs into the living room, but the braces held her feet in an odd position, and walking was hard. Finola tripped, nearly falling down the long staircase, until arms caught her.

To this day, Finola could call those arms into the front part of her memory. They felt like Dad's arms, strong and safe, but different. They belonged to a dark-haired man. His hair was messy. Finola remembered thinking he must not have a mommy to fix his hair. And he had hazel eyes like her own.

"There now, little bird," the man had said, setting her down, just before Mom ran in.

"Finola! Oh, honey, are you okay? Did you fall?"

Finola pointed. "The man caught me."

Mom looked puzzled, because there was nobody there. "What man, sweetheart?"

Finola pointed again. "Angel, Mommy. He was an angel."

Mom shrugged it off at the time. Finola had always talked more clearly than most kids her age, and she figured such a smart kid naturally had a big imagination. Years later, Finola would hear her parents speculating that Jesus had indeed sent an angel.

Finola's memories carried her forward, to when she was about four. She was at Memaw's house then, playing with her dolls in the backyard during a family reunion, when her older, boisterous boy cousins ran through her game. The younger one called to her to come play, and he opened the outside gate at her aunt and uncle's house just a few feet away.

At the time, Finola's aunt and uncle owned a large German shepherd named Hans. He wasn't much more than a puppy, but huge and untrained. He barked incessantly, frightening Finola into a frozen stupor. When he bounded toward her and threw her off balance, she grabbed a nearby stick.

"Go away, you big mean dog!" she remembered commanding. She'd waved the stick, and seemingly right then, Hans was gone. Instead, there was a tiny brown and black kitten.

Finola's parents, and her aunt and uncle, decided Hans had gotten scared off, and the neighbor's kitten got out. Finola's cousins really got it for letting Hans out, too. But when Finola tried to explain, Mom scolded her about making up stories.

As the years passed and Finola's affinity for books increased, she often noticed Mom and Dad exchanging worried looks. They let her read as much as she wanted, even taking her to the library or bookstore on weekends. Yet they were extremely careful around books like _Harry Potter_ , because it seemed they wanted her to know real was real and stories were stories and that was that. They weren't even going to let her read the _Narnia_ books, except that Aslan the lion represented Jesus, so that was all right.

Finola never told Mom and Dad about the other times. Like the time she'd been five and her leg braces hurt so much she just had to get them off. So, thinking what worked in her favorite movie might work for her, she jumped up and down and said, "Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo," and the braces unbuckled so she could remove them. Or the time when she was seven and terribly frightened at an orthopedic clinic visit. A kind red-haired woman, with bright green eyes, had come into the exam room while Dad, who brought her to the appointment, was in the men's room. The woman sat with her and said soothing things, but disappeared when Dad came back. Finola called the woman her Christmas angel, because of the red hair and green eyes, and because it was Christmas at the time. Dad told her it was just a friendly nurse.

Now, Mom and Dad looked as amazed as Finola felt. Mom spoke first. "Mrs. Granger-Weasley, are you telling us all this time…the angels, the incident with my brother's dog…" She trailed off.

"Yes," Hermione said. "Every single one was real, and those were angels. From the descriptions Finola gave you back then…" Her eyes grew a bit misty. "They might have been our own James and Lily Potter. In the Wizarding World, many of our deceased do watch over children. And perhaps Finola, being a Christian, needed—shall we say, a form she was comfortable with."

"Oh, Finola." Mom gathered her daughter in a hug.

Dad cleared his throat and shook his head. "All these years, we accused you of lying. I'm so sorry, pumpkin."

"That's okay," Finola said. "Sometimes I wondered if I made it all up, too. But…" A horrible thought occurred. "If I'm a w—what you say, does that mean I lose my salvation? That God doesn't love me anymore?"

"Oh no," all the adults disagreed at once. Hermione stepped in again.

"Many of our witches and wizards have been Christians—mostly nominal, but some practicing. Their power, while taught, seems to come from a somewhat Divine source. If anything, Finola, it was the goodness of your heart and strength of your soul that attracted Hogwarts to you. Don't you remember the other owl?"

"Wait! Yes…wait, I'll get it!" Finola raced up to her room and pulled out the left middle nightstand drawer, reaching for the red, green, gold, and blue-covered box where she kept her secret things. She read the address on the letter again.

 _Miss F. Frost_

 _197 Cordia Ln._

 _The Room at the End of the Hall_

 _Hollyhock Village, USA_

Finola had never gotten a letter like that, but the sender must've known her. She always wrote "Ln" instead of "Lane" in her address, because she couldn't write legibly. She knew how to do her initials, and most of her address, because those letters were all straight lines and circles, and therefore easy. But the lowercase "e" on Lane was always too hard, so she abbreviated. Still, magic wasn't real. So she had waited until Mom and Dad were busy and typed out a reply on her computer:

 _To Whom it May Concern_ , she'd addressed it, like Ms. Brenneman taught in English, like a grown-up letter.

 _Thank you for the letter, but there must be some mistake. There is no Hogwarts; it's fiction. I don't think you're trying to trick me, but if you are, it's not funny. Sorry._

 _P.S.—I liked your owl. She let me pet her. But please don't send another one. That one pooped on our roof, and Dad was irrevocably incensed for hours. Perhaps your owl ate a rancid rat?_

A few days later, Finola had been at her favorite birch tree, sitting on the swing Dad built for her, when she noticed the second letter in the tree's hollow place.

 _Miss F. Frost_

 _197 Cordia Ln._

 _The Birch Tree with the Swing_

 _Hollyhock Village, USA_

 _Dear Miss Frost:_

 _We assure you, magic is real and this isn't a trick. You will be contacted with more details. All the best from the extremely real Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

 _Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress_

 _P.S.—The owl you met was male. His name is Solomon. Yet he was not offended; he enjoyed you as well. Yes, rats can be rather rancid creatures, can they not? My sincerest apologies for the fecal matter on your roof._

Finola saved the second letter, and waited all summer to see what would happen. Now, on August thirtieth, she'd been sure she offended Professor McGonagall—or whoever she was—or had made the whole thing up. But now…

Finola brought the letter downstairs and held it out to Hermione. "I'm sorry," she began. "I honestly didn't know magic was real. Can I still come to Hogwarts, if Mom and Dad say it's all right?"

"No apology needed," Hermione assured her. "And yes, your place is open."

"Hold on," Mom spoke up. "Knowing what we know now, this is obviously a great opportunity for Finola. But why London and Hogwarts? Isn't there a—a school like yours here in America?"

Hermione nodded. "That would be Ilvermorny, and it is an excellent school. I'm afraid this part is my doing. You see, Finola reminds me so much of my younger self. A Muggle-born witch…that's non-magical…who doesn't fit in, who needs confidence, a reason to believe, her place in the world. When I heard of her, I pleaded with Headmaster Dumbledore to let her study at Hogwarts." She beamed. "He said yes." She murmured something, something that sounded like, "That's almost the only thing the old fool ever did right."

"We can't afford…" Dad began.

"Finola will be a scholarship student," Hermione interrupted. "So long as her marks and conduct meet scholarship standards, her place is secure for the next seven years. She will receive a rigorous magical and academic education, and at the end of that time, she may choose to return to the Muggle world or pursue a Wizarding career. Options have increased tenfold since the war. Finola might even choose to attend magical university."

"War?" Mom gasped. "Oh, you mean—what's his name, that awful man in the books…"

"Voldemort," Hermione finished with a low, businesslike tone. "Yes. He's gone now, praise Merlin…er, God. Gone for good. Finola will be safe."

"Are you sure?" Dad asked. "You know, smart and capable as she is, there are just some things Fin can't do, and…"

"Dad!" Finola protested. Much as she loved her parents, sometimes they acted like she was too fragile to get out of her own way. A thought occurred to her, filling her with hope. "Miss Hermione…would magic take cerebral palsy away?"

"Just Hermione dear, unless we're in Hogwarts territory, in which case it's Minister or Mrs. Granger-Weasley." Hermione shook her head. "Some things, even magic can't fix. But we can and will employ, what do you call them, modifications, to make things easier for you. For instance…" Hermione knelt at Finola's feet and tapped her shoes with her wand. Her braces disappeared, leaving behind shoes like the other girls wore, except these felt particularly supportive, holding her feet in the "correct" position the way her braces did.

"Wow! Mom, Dad, look! That's so cool!"

"The coolest," Hermione agreed. "Or wicked, as we Brits say."

"All right," Dad agreed. "And thank you, Mrs. Granger-Weasley. But I want to make one thing clear. It's barely the start of the school year, and Finola's already been targeted. Students and teachers have bullied her. My wife is on the school board, and…"

"And while your world is out of my jurisdiction," Mom picked up, "if Fin writes home and tells us anything like that is happening, I don't care if we have to ram our heads into that platform, somebody will pay for it."

"I assure you," Hermione said in the same tone she used when talking about Voldemort, "Finola will be protected. Dumbledore is a bit lax about those things, but he won't have nearly as much say as the professors. McGonagall and Snape, in particular, employ strict zero-tolerance policies. Finola may write as much as she likes, and will of course come back on breaks. Should she ever need you, you're never far away."

Mom and Dad exchanged eye messages. They both hugged Finola hard, something between a we're-so-proud-of-you hug and we're-afraid-for-our-girl hug. Dad stroked her cheek.

"You have our blessing, Finola. If this is what you want."

Finola thought it over. A new school, in a new country, with magic…it sounded terrifying, yet exciting at the same time. And perhaps being who she was, smart but with a disability, would be easier, too.

"It is," she said. "Don't worry. I'll be okay." She glanced at Hermione. "You were—you are—my favorite character. I always thought the series should be about you. Not that Harry wasn't interesting, but anyway. If you say I'll be okay, I will be."

Hermione squeezed Finola's shoulder. "Thank you for the vote of confidence, dear. Take tonight to pack." She raised her wand and conjured up a steamer trunk. "You may bring anything you need, but pack light, as we still must get your supplies. You'll be doing a side-along Apparition to Diagon Alley with me tomorrow. Oh, and Mr. and Mrs. Frost – just a few casual clothes. Finola will spend much of her time in school robes."

 **A/N: Okay, that's pretty much the boring part. Please read and review. I can't wait to bring you the next chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay, so, a bit of editing. I couldn't sleep last night and got to thinking about this story, and I found a big problem. Finola and her friends, AKA The Gifted, are young women. Yet, the majority of their teachers/heads of House are men. These girls are going to need a female mentor, a woman to talk to. Yes, Minerva McGonagall could fill that role and do it well, but she's already got a lot on her plate. Plus, she's much older than these girls and may not provide the exact mentorship they need.**

 **So, I have made a command decision. Filius Flitwick will no longer be head of Ravenclaw House. Instead, it is explained he left Hogwarts post-war to focus on dueling and defending his world. His replacement is a female OC, a young, cool Charms expert who will also be responsible for leading Hogwarts into a technological age. I hope you enjoy meeting her—and despair not. Flitwick isn't completely out of the picture.**

Chapter 2:

The next day dawned hot and so humid, breathing felt like sucking in air through a wet washcloth. The sort of day Finola absolutely loathed, but nothing would spoil today. Today, Hermione Granger herself—no, _Minister Granger-Weasley_ —was taking her to Hogwarts.

The Apparition to Diagon Alley made Finola nervous, but was over within milliseconds. She gulped in air while clutching the Minister's hand, her stomach flopping like it did when Dad drove the car down a hill at a good clip.

"All right there, Finola? Good—I worried your first Apparition would be a bit tricky. Now, I think in this weather, the first thing you need will be some nice, cool robes. You look rather like a stewed tomato. To Madam Malkin's we go!"

The school supply shopping trip passed in a blur. Finola had never experienced anything like Diagon Alley in her life. All around her, people chatted, laughed, and carried shopping bags just like at a Muggle outdoor mall. Yet these people were definitely different. Most of them wore colorful robes and hats, and several used what must be wands. The shop names were a mystery, too. Apothecary…Quality Quidditch Supplies…Flourish and Blotts…

"Next on the list, schoolbooks," Hermione-the-Minister announced. "Come along. I have a feeling you'll like this."

The moment Finola stepped through the doors of Flourish and Blotts, she was home. Books sat on shelves, some facing out and waving their pages at her. Parchment begged for words, and quills of all colors stood at attention. Aromas of ink, cinnamon, and vanilla permeated the room.

"Oh, wow. Her—I mean, Minister—do we really get to shop here?"

"Of course." Hermione pulled a list from her robes. "Would you like to take this and find what you need?"

"Oh…ah, yes, ma'am, but…you see, my eyes aren't so good. I don't have, what did my eye doctor say? Oh, yeah. I don't have depth perception or peripheral vision. Sometimes I get lost. I'm sorry."

Hermione ignored the apology. "That's all right. I'll come along. It should be a fun trip down Memory Lane; I haven't seen first-year schoolbooks in quite a while."

"You were the best student at Hogwarts, weren't you?"

Hermione blushed. "Well, I don't like to brag dear, but they did call me 'The Brightest Witch of Her Age.' Is someone hoping to follow in my footsteps?" Hermione's eyes took on a teasing glint.

Now it was Finola's turn to go red. "I don't think I'm that smart, but I sure want to do well. Do—do you think I can?"

"I not only think, Finola. I know. Now, to the books."

The sheer number of volumes in Flourish and Blotts made Finola's head spin. Several volumes, some of which she recognized from Muggle stores, tempted her. But it wouldn't do to be greedy, so she stuck to the list.

"Brilliant," Hermione said. "Oh, and one more. A gift." She handed Finola a thick book titled _Hogwarts: A History._ "Newest edition, updated since the war. I'm hoping to make digital copies when the Wizarding World is ready for Kindles, but we aren't quite there yet. I did notice you brought a Kindle with you, though. No worries; you can charge it. We have figured out batteries."

"Oh, Minister…ma'am…thank you. This is fantastically fabulous, this is…"

"Open it up. There's something you'll need tucked inside."

Finola did so, and her face fell. The precious book held the most beautiful quill she'd ever seen, with an emerald, gold, ruby, and sapphire feather and a polished gold nib. A gorgeous quill. A quill she couldn't use.

"Thank you," she managed. "But I can't...I mean, I can write some, but it's not so good. They made me do OT at school—that's occupational therapy. The therapist, Rosalyn, helped me, but my letters still look like a kindergartner made them. I can't accept this."

"Oh, dear, I should have explained. This is what we call a Dicta-Quill. We may not be up to computers yet, but our technology is much improved. This quill listens to your professors' lectures and transcribes their notes for you. The same is true for exams. Should you need to write outside class, the Dicta-Quill is charmed for optimum legibility."

Finola must've looked like Hermione had grown another nose, because the woman took her to an empty table and opened _Hogwarts: A History_ to the inside front cover. "Go on, try. Write your name there."

Finola took the Dicta-Quill and inhaled. She tried holding it with the "correct" three-finger pencil grip, but that felt strange, so she did it her way, with her whole hand. _Finola Jane Frost._ She gasped. Perfect, and in tiny, even script, no less! With a little laugh, she added, _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Year One._

"This is…" Finola slipped the precious quill into the schoolbag Hermione had brought along. Her throat closed up, and she blinked hard. _Come on, it's just a quill. You're eleven years old, for Pete's sake._ She gulped.

"Thank you. I've never…I never thought I could…not for real. Thank you." She embraced Hermione before realizing it probably wasn't proper to hug a Minister of Magic. "Oh, I'm sorry!"

But Hermione hugged her back. "You're welcome. I'm sure you'd love to practice all day, but take it easy. Otherwise, you'll get dreadful writer's cramp. We have a couple more stops to make before you need to meet the train."

"How will I ever choose?" Finola mused as she stared around Ollivander's. Wands of every length, wood, and design stared back at her from the walls, as if discerning whether she was worthy of any of them.

"The wand chooses the witch," the proprietor corrected. "Now, let's see...I'd say you're about a 10.5 or 11-inch. Right- or left-handed?"

"Right."

"Hmmm. Give this one a go." The proprietor handed Finola a light-colored, somewhat rigid wand. "Just twirl it in the air like so."

Finola did, but several papers and wand boxes flew everywhere. She gasped and bent to help clean up the mess, but Ollivander waved her off. "It happens all the time. Perhaps this one?" He offered a slightly longer wand, this one with a silver tip and dark, heavy wood. Unfortunately, the same results occurred.

"Interesting," Ollivander murmured. "Very interesting indeed. Well, as they say, third time's the charm." Ollivander ducked behind the counter and took out a glass-topped wand box. "I haven't offered this one much. It's one of our newer creations, and something tells me it's the one for you. Birch, eleven inches, supple, with a unicorn hair core."

Finola hefted the wand in her hand for a few moments, hesitating to move it. After all, the shop was already a mess. But with an encouraging nudge from Hermione, she got up her nerve. Light immediately emanated from the tip.

"Does that mean..." Finola dared ask.

Ollivander grinned. "Yes! I knew it would be a perfect match." He stared off into space for a moment. "Oh yes, Finola Frost. I think you and this wand are going to do things Hogwarts has never seen."

"All right, Finola?" Hermione asked again after the wand shop.

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm okay. I…" She smothered a yawn with her hand.

"You poor dear, you look completely knackered. Fortunately, I reserved us a room at the Leaky Cauldron for the night, but we have one more special stop first." Hermione placed her hand on the small of Finola's back and shepherded her toward the Magical Menagerie.

"If you've read our books," she said, "you'll remember Hagrid gave Harry a familiar—er, pet—on his birthday. I'd like to offer you the same gift."

"Ma'am, another gift? I couldn't…"

Hermione winked. "Call it a birthday present."

"But my birthday was—"

"In January, yes. Considering everything, I'd say this is long overdue. Go on in. Choose whichever familiar you like."

"Um, thanks. If you say it's okay. But…does it need to be an owl? It's just—I've always wanted a cat."

"Ah, a young lady after my own heart. A cat it shall be."

Finola was instantly drawn to the felines in the Magical Menagerie, but stumped on which to choose. They all seemed eager for an owner. But a persistent little one, a calico, kept twining around her legs. She bent to pick it up.

"Hi there. Would you like to come to Hogwarts with me?"

The little calico tilted her head as if she understood, and purred.

"Looks like she chose you," Hermione announced. "What will you call her?"

Finola studied her new friend. "She looks like...a Nutmeg. Yeah, that's it. Nutmeg and I are going to Hogwarts."

"Oof! There's got to be a less painful way for magical people to travel," Finola murmured the next day. She picked herself up from Platfform 9 3/4 and hurried to an empty spot on the platform. "I hope no Muggles saw me, running into the wall with a trunk and a cat like that." She rubbed Nutmeg through her carrier and straightened her robes, just as a whistle rent the air. A black and scarlet train, bigger than any Finola had ever seen, chugged into the station. For an instant, Finola wished for Hermione's guidance, but she'd had to return to the Ministry for work after dropping Finola at King's Cross Station. Besides, Finola didn't want to be a baby, tagging after adults all the time. Traveling on her own would be a great adventure. After letting several students pass, she stepped into the cleared space and onto the train.

Several compartments had already filled with students, some older but quite a few Finola's age - and many not so tall, she noted with a wry grin. Spotting an empty seat, she curled up, gave Nutmeg a rub through her carrier, and took a book from her new school bag. Mom and Dad had let her spend twice her allowance at the bookstore in celebration of coming to Hogwarts. Finola's throat tightened. She was going to miss them so much...

"No. Adventure. Think about that, and about being...a witch, " she whispered. The word sat heavy on her tongue, tight and uncomfortable like an old sweater. In her world, a witch was somebody who didn't know God, who in fact flaunted Him. But she still loved God. Besides, maybe magic would make certain things easier. Things like...ooh. She rubbed her shoulder and moved her arm in circles like her physical therapist back home taught her. Things like heavy luggage.

"Hey, is this seat taken?" A girl with a slight Irish brogue and lively dark eyes stepped into the compartment. She looked Finola's age, and carried a little terrarium with a toad inside. "Oi there, I'm Brenna Kettleburn. First time to Hogwarts?"

"Oh...yes. I mean, no, the seat's open, and yes, it's my first time. Sorry. I - I just found out I was a...witch a few days ago." That was better than admitting the truth - that she wasn't used to people asking to sit with her.

Brenna nodded. "I'm half and half. My dad's a wizard. You must be Muggle-born."

"Yes."

Brenna's eyes lit and she sat forward. "Wicked. Can you tell me about those Muggle things, computers? They say Hogwarts is gonna get some this year, but they aren't ready yet. What are they? And what's the...internet, and wi-fi, and..."

Finola laughed. "Okay, I promise I'll tell you. Just slow down. And you have to tell me about Hogwarts. Is it true the school is a real castle?"

"As real as you or me, ducks. Don't they have castles in America? Relax," Brenna said when Finola's mouth dropped open. "Everybody knows about your scholarship. Most of them are keen to have an American at Hogwarts. You're our first since Newt Scamander." Her face contorted as if she'd eaten something rancid. "Well, except some of the Slytherins, but even they're not all bad, since the war."

Finola nodded and closed her book on her thumb. "Speaking of Slytherins - what do you know about Snape? Is he as bad as everyone says? Was he really a - a Death Eater?"

Brenna leaned forward with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. " _Was._ He turned it around after the first war, played double agent for Dumbledore and everything."

"Because he loved Lily Potter," Finola filled in. She really wasn't supposed to have read the last book in the series yet. Mom and Dad worried it would be too dark. Yet she hadn't been able to keep herself from checking it out of the library, perhaps the only rebellious thing she'd ever done. She'd despised Snape for six whole books, but had cried buckets over his real story. Still, what if he treated Finola worse than Harry, or poor Neville Longbottom? She shuddered.

"Ah now, don't worry about the old snake," Brenna comforted. "He can still be a git sometimes, but he's softened up some, I hear, 'cause of giving Harry Potter his memories, and opening up about Lily and all. At least he doesn't threaten to murder people's familiars anymore."

This inspired Finola to lift Nutmeg from her carrier and cuddle her protectively. _I might not be the strongest girl, or the bravest, but Snape better not try anything with you, my girl._ She turned back to Brenna. "Tell me more about Hogwarts. What about the classes and other teachers?"

"Oh, you're gonna love it, Finola. Transfiguration's the best, that's what my cousin told me. Professor McG—that's McGonagall—she's tough, but fair. And DADA is aces…that's Defense Against the Dark Arts, I forgot, you're a Muggle…"

Finola tried to jump in a few times, but was soon content to let the other girl chatter on. After all, Mom had once cautioned her about "monolguing" herself. Maybe Brenna was like Finola and just wanted somebody to talk to. She had just about lost herself in the flood of information when another girl, this one wearing French braids, entered the compartment.

"Excuse me, have either of you seen a necklace? A girl in my compartment, Anya, lost one."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, you don't have to spread it all over the train! Out of my way!" Another first year, words coming out in a clipped Easten European accent, swept in with a toss of long blonde hair held back in a jeweled headband. "Honestly, you can't trust anyone around here..."

"Anya, I'm sure everything's fine," the French braids girl tried to placate, but Anya had none of it.

"I recognize you - one of those half-bloods from Belfast. And you, you must be that crippled Muggle everyone's going on about..."

"Watch it, you git," Brenna snapped before Finola could register the slur. "Or I'll put a Bat Bogey Hex on you before we're even in sight of the lake."

"Maybe we could try a spell to find it?" Finola suggested, trying to forget the "cripple" comment.

"Spells almost never work for first-years, you idiot!"

"Ah! Found it!" The French braids girl hopped up from where she'd been searching the compartment floor and handed Anya a necklace set with what looked like emeralds, rubies, and sapphires. I hope for her sake they're fake, Finola thought. Anya tossed a glare at the others and stormed out, necklace gripped in her fist.

"She's a piece of work, eh?" Brenna asked. "Thanks for helping us out, um..."

"Lily. Lily Corrigan."

The other girls introduced themselves and resumed a conversation about the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, including computers, until a rotund, red-cheeked witch came by with a cart. "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Lily took something called a Sugar Quill, while Brenna requested an Acid Pop. Finola must've looked confused, because Lily winked.

"We've got to get you introduced to wizard sweets. What Muggle things do you like at home?"

Finola blushed a bit. "I'm a chocoholic."

"Right. One chocolate frog and one cauldron cake, then." Lily took some coins from her pocket.

"Oh, no, I..." Finola protested.

"It's all right. Call it a welcome present. Here, try the chocolate frog first. They're aces, and you'll want to collect the cards. Ah, come back here!" Lily caught the frog that jumped into her hand and gave it to Finola. "Don't worry, it's not alive. Won't feel a thing."

The creamy smoothness of chocolate embraced Finola's tongue - something between a Hershey bar and Raisinettes, she guessed, with a richness uncommon to American chocolate. Wizards must use real milk and cream in their concoctions. She fumbled with the packaging, nearly tearing the edge, but got to the card inside. A man with a hooked nose, long greasy hair, and a black cloak stared back at her. He looked fierce, but also a bit sad. Lost.

"Hey, you've got Snape," Brenna said. "Bad luck, that. Trade you for Dumbledore?"

Finola hesitated. "Um, no. I think I'll keep this one. It is my first card, after all. Besides, maybe Snape's not all bad."

Brenna and Lily both grinned. Brenna clapped Finola on the back. "I'm glad you're coming to Hogwarts, Finola Frost. Something tells me you're going to make it great."

"First years, to the front, please," Professor McGonagall announced later that night. "The Sorting Ceremony will begin momentarily."

Finola's heart kicked into third gear. The collar on her new black robe chafed against her neck, and beads of perspiration danced across her forehead. What if the Sorting Hat placed her in the wrong house? Worse, what if she wasn't Sorted at all, but placed in some kind of special education, or told she had to room with a teacher instead of in a house? The teachers at her Muggle school, one in particular, had told Mom and Dad Finola needed special ed because she didn't see well and had trouble with things like solving math problems with a paper and pencil, or writing letters. She'd gotten all A's and proved them wrong, and her parents stuck up for her, but...

"Corrigan, Lily!"

Finola tuned in as her new friend stepped up to the platform and sat on a stool, where Professor M placed a battered, pointed hat on her head. A moment or two later, the Hat gave a triumphant announcement,

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The Hufflepuff table, under black and yellow banners, burst into cheers and applause. Blushing from hairline to chin but looking pleased, Lily went to join her new table. While some other students were Sorted, Finola switched gears. If she did get Sorted into a real house, which would she want? She glanced about. The Hufflepuffs seemed nice, and the Sorting Hat said they were loyal, honest, and unafraid of hard work. Finola knew hard work like she knew her favorite books. She worked like crazy at school and in therapy. But what if she got put in Hufflepuff and the professors thought that meant she could handle extra therapy? Surely she'd still have to do occupational and physical sessions, like at home...

But then again, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, not if she were in Gryffindor. The Gryffindor kids were a little loud and seemed rowdy, but they also seemed as though they liked having fun. And Gryffindor was Hermione Granger's old house. Finola's throat closed, but not because she wanted to cry. No, the idea of being just as smart and brave as Hermione Granger was too wonderful to imagine. What if... But no. Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, and Finola Frost was decidedly not brave. She wiped sweat from her brow, remembering how she'd cried like a baby over needles and doctors and painful braces.

Slytherin? She glanced toward the emerald and silver table. Finola loved those colors - emeralds were in fact her favorite gemstone. And Brenna had said Slytherin was a lot nicer since the war. Slytherins were supposed to be ambitious, and Finola knew she had big dreams. And yet, what if that wasn't enough? She caught a glimpse of the girl with the expensive necklace, a few places ahead in line. She seemed like the Slytherin type. The type to make fun of people like Finola. No, best to stay clear of Slytherin.

"Glazkov, Anya!"

As if on cue, the necklace girl took her place. Her eyes darted round the room, and her face was pinched despite regal bearing. Finola's heart squeezed in sympathy despite herself.

"SLYTHERIN!"

At that, Anya's whole demeanor relaxed, and she took her place with the Slytherins among welcomes and back claps. Finola took one last look around the room before Professor M called her own name.

The walk to the stool seemed to take forever. Finola wasn't wearing braces anymore, but her legs were as stiff and painful as if she were trying to break a new pair in. She stumbled once, but Professor McGonagall caught her elbow and helped her sit, placing the Hat on her head with the utmost gentleness.

"Ah, Finola Frost. Our new American friend. Difficult, but intriguing. I see a brilliant mind...creative, witty...ah, brilliant indeed. But I also see a stalwart heart...brave...noble...and a thirst to prove yourself..."

Finola's mouth went dry. Wasn't that what the Hat told Harry Potter before trying to place him in Slytherin? _Not Slytherin. And not Gryffindor. Please, not Gryffindor. I'm not brave enough. I'm scared of bullies, and needles, and therapy, and Snape, and..._

"Ah, you're braver than you know," the Hat whispered. "I see ambition, tenacity...quite like a Slytherin, actually...but kindness worthy of a Hufflepuff...where, oh, where..."

The Great Hall filled with murmurings and shiftings. Someone whispered, "Hatstall." Soon the word flew about the room like a bunch of rogue brooms.

"It's up to you," the Hat coached. "Choose with your heart."

 _But I don't know. What if I choose wrong?_

"Choose with your heart..."

Obviously the old thing wasn't giving up. Finola hesitated. Where would she fit in? Where could she be happy? Her mind traveled back to the Hat's song - something about wit, creativity, intelligence...yes. That's who she wanted to be. Someone kind and ambitious yes, but wise. Wise so that she could help others, and so others would know she wasn't...damaged.

"Very well," the Hat said. "Good thing too, my girl - you were giving me a headache. RAVENCLAW!"

The blue and bronze Ravenclaw table erupted in cheers and applause. A fifth year girl wearing a badge pulled Finola into a hug as she moved toward the table.

"Welcome! I'm Holly, Prefect for the girls. That was something, eh? You're going to love Ravenclaw. Oh, look, here comes the Grey Lady!"

"But there's no..." Finola clapped her mouth shut. It wouldn't do to offend her first real ghost by saying there was no such thing. But if the Grey Lady guessed her thoughts, the apparition didn't let on. Instead, she stopped by and laid a transparent hand on Finola's shoulder.

"Welcome, my dear." Her voice was an etheral whisper, almost wordless air.

Holly gestured to the hundreds of platters on the table. "After that Hatstall, you must be famished. I know we all are. Go on, tuck in!"

Finola tried to obey, but her stomach was still flip-flopping and twisting about. She managed only some bread, asparagus, and a few bites of roast chicken before pushing back her plate. "It's delicious," she reassured Holly. "It's just..."

Holly gave a sage nod. "First-year jitters. I remember. No worries. If you like, you can ring a House Elf later and they'll bring some tea or warm milk. It'll help you sleep. In the meantime, try this." Holly offered a small bowl full of what looked like clear broth. "Stomach-Settling Soup. It tastes like whatever you need to feel better."

Finola dipped in her spoon, and indeed, her stomach calmed down instantly. Halfway through her bowl, Headmaster Dumbledore stepped to the platform. Although his voice was aged, he barely had to project to be heard.

"Welcome to a new year at our illustrious school. I am pleased to have you all back, and to welcome our first-years into a truly safe environment for the first time in many years."

The Hall rocked with applause and cheers. "Hear, hear," and "Long live Dumbledore" bounced around until the venerable man raised his hands for silence.

"Yes, yes, it is a lovely change, among many. The most important changes concern our staff. Of course, you all remember the illustrious Professor McGonagall…" (applause, whistles, and cheers), "and the incomparable Professor Snape…" (quieter, more polite applause, some murmuring). "They will be joining us for Transfiguration and Potions, respectively. I am also thrilled to announce a permanent addition to our staff, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts—Professor Remus J. Lupin."

The Hall went nuts at this. Finola caught some of the older Ravenclaw kids exchanging looks, sighing in relief, and saying things like, "About ruddy time!" She glanced toward the teachers' table, where a youngish guy in a shabby, yet clean suit, with a scar running from hairline to chin, grinned at the students and gave a modest wave. Memories of Lupin's condition came back to Finola from reading the third book in the _Harry Potter_ series. She'd identified so strongly with him then, and hoped he would like her. More, she hoped he'd be able to teach. She looked up. _God, I don't know how you deal with werewolves. It's kind of confusing to me, but you know everything. I'm sure you know how to help Professor Lupin. Please do it. He's a good teacher. He didn't deserve what happened back then._ She dared a quick look at Snape, who made eye contact and glared right back.

Finola shivered. Much as she'd sympathized with the Potions master after reading about Lily, she knew he wasn't one to cross. She added to her petition. _Oh, and if you wouldn't mind, help me know how to deal with Professor Snape._

"Yes, yes, welcome back, Professor Lupin." Dumbledore's voice pulled Finola back to reality. "And now, some other new additions. Our dear Professor Pomona Sprout has elected to retire in the face of post-war exhaustion. But she asks me to inform you she is quite hale and hearty, spending plenty of time in her gardens and with her grandchildren. She had a hand in personally selecting our new Herbology professor. Some of you may remember him as a Gryffindor alumni, war hero, and now Head of Hufflepuff House—Professor Neville Longbottom."

"Whoo! All right!"

"Herbology's gonna rock this year!"

Finola added polite applause to her peers' more enthusiastic responses, but her eye was drawn away from Longbottom to an unfamiliar face seated between himself and McGonagall. The new face belonged to a woman—young, maybe late twenties or early thirties. She wore robes like the other teachers, but hers were noticeably shorter, worn more like a trim, stylish coat than a cloak. A cocoa-colored pageboy framed an olive-skinned face, and dark eyes danced beneath pencil-thin brows. Blue and bronze streaks interrupted her hair's smooth brown palette.

"And finally," Dumbledore announced, "we have a new Charms professor. Professor Filius Flitwick has elected to leave Hogwarts to concentrate on his dueling career, but has agreed to serve as guest lecturer on occasion. In the meantime, his duties, including Head of Ravenclaw House, will be filled thanks to Professor Monica Swanson, lately of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where she achieved Order of Merlin First Class for her Charms work and served a brilliant three years as Charms professor and Head of Horned Serpent House."

Professor Swanson stood and waved as if in a parade. "Hi, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks so much for having me. I know we're gonna have a great year—and all you Ravens, I look forward to serving as den Mom."

Finola sat up straighter as the anxiety leeched from her body. Another American, and her head of house at that. She wouldn't feel so alone. Buoyed, she slipped a chocolate mint cookie from a nearby dessert plate.

"Thank you, Miss Swanson," Dumbledore said. "And now that we all know each other, a bit of review. I remind you all that the Forbidden Forest and third floor corridor remain out of bounds to all students at all times. No magic is to be performed in the corridors. And as always, keep abreast of your house points. All good marks, triumphs, and good deeds will earn points. Poor marks, rule-breaking, and the like will cost you points. At the end of the year, the house with the highest total will be awarded the House Cup. Professor McGonagall has also asked me to tell you, there will be prizes for this year's winner."

At this, the Hall broke into murmurings again, until Dumbledore signaled for silence. "Now," he went on when the students were quiet, "that is exciting, I grant. There are many new things to be excited about at Hogwarts this year. For instance, our technology has greatly improved and we hope to gain computer and internet access by the end of term. Also, after tonight, students will no longer be required to sit at House tables exclusively." He paused, eyes clouding a bit. "After the recent war, it is the hope of all your professors and myself that we may foster House and school unity, in order to protect against future Dark wizard activity, as well as bullying. In fact, bullying of any sort by any person will not be tolerated. In cases severe enough, it may lead to expulsion."

Dumbledore went on a bit after that, talking about things like new technological developments, new policies about House Elf/student relations (House Elves were on call 24-7 but were not to be called after curfew except with Prefect, teacher, or nurse permission), new broomsticks and uniforms for the Quidditch teams, and the like. But Finola didn't catch most of it. In fact, the longer the speech went on, the heavier her body felt. She opened her eyes as wide as possible just to keep them from closing.

Holly must have noticed, because the moment Dumbledore called dismissal, she stood. "First year Ravenclaw girls, follow me to the tower, please. Don't worry about the riddle. I'll answer tonight. In future, I encourage you to work out answers together."

Finola put all her energy into walking. Brenna Kettleburn, sorted into Gryffindor, gave her a wave across the hall, but she barely managed a smile back. Meanwhile, the other students laughed or gossiped while shuffling out.

"Real prizes for the House Cup winner, can you believe it?"

"If old Dumbledork follows through on it. I hear he's just a figurehead these days, that Snape and McGonagall are the real ones in charge."

"Did you get a load of that new Charms prof? She acts like a Muggle."

"Don't let any of the other profs hear you say that."

"I don't care if she's Muggle, pureblood, or a Martian. She's _hot,_ dude."

"New teachers are old news around here, anyway. What I couldn't get enough of was that girl, Fiona something. First Hatstall in a hundred years, they say."

"I never heard of her. She must be a Muggle-born."

"Yeah, and American, here on scholarship."

"Here because somebody pities her, you mean. She doesn't deserve to be here, and I'm gonna make sure everyone knows it."

Suddenly wide awake, Finola snapped her head around, but didn't catch the voice's owner. Female, but not, she realized too late, Anya Glazkov from Slytherin. No, because Anya was staring Finola straight in the face.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Mudblood," she hissed. "Hogwarts isn't all House Cups and unity, you know."

 **A/N: Okay, so, super long. My apologies, but I hope you enjoyed!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

 **A/N: As I did not make it clear before, I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters from the series. However, Finola Frost, her friends, and any new characters are mine.**

 **You may notice Prof. Sprout has been replaced with Prof. Longbottom for Herbology. This is a deliberate choice, as (1) we don't know much about her, (2) she may have chosen to retire after the war, and (3) I like Neville Longbottom and wanted to give him the page time he's due. However, we may see good old Pomona later on, so Sprout fans, don't despair!**

 **Warning: Ableist language/bullying**

With a trademark snap of his voluminous cloak, Severus Snape left the Welcoming Feast not a minute later than propriety allowed. A strong cup of tea and a night curled up with a Muggle novel, perhaps something like _Great Expectations,_ might calm him down. But until he gained his chambers, his mind swirled with thoughts that refused to organize themselves.

The Frost girl. Fiona? No, Finola. Irish for "fair." Ha. Well, life wasn't fair, that was for certain. What had Dumbledore been thinking, bringing yet another "special" student here? Another student he swore would be a credit to Hogwarts? Had Harry Potter taught him nothing? Severus huffed and placed his cane, minted since Nagini's snakebite landed him with permanent disability, on the next stair step. "Change on me and I'll hex you into Christmas," he threatened.

He and Harry had almost lost each other before they got a second chance. Second chances—another laugh. Despite being lauded as a hero, Severus was still worthy of no such thing. He'd wanted nothing more than to live out the rest of his days as a Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts expert, bothering no one, trying to forget the past. Until Dumbledore, the blasted fool, begged him to resume teaching.

"I'll see myself in Hades first," Snape had said. "I might murder you for good."

"I doubt it, my boy. Highly."

Snape pinned Dumbledore to the wall with his gaze. "Hear me, Albus. Do not _ever_ call me your _boy_ again." The fact Dumbledore had pretty much owned him for decades was humiliation enough. "And you're daft if you think for a moment I'll come back to that death trap you call a school, particularly to teach Defense." Regret soured his stomach at the thought of his former passion. "Never again!"

"Potions, Severus," Dumbledore pleaded. "Remus Lupin is taking over DADA."

"Oh, well, isn't that just blasted _peachy!_ You come groveling to me, and yet you have the nerve to hire that filthy Marauder, too!"

"You're not schoolboys anymore. And as I recall, Remus never participated in those pranks as heavily as the others did."

"Pranks?" Severus spit the word out like a bad Bertie Bott's bean. "I ought to throttle you here and now, old man." Oh, yes, that would be delicious. No spells, no curses, just a good old-fashioned Muggle beating. And yet, Severus knew then, knew now, even knew way back in the day if he admitted it to himself, that wouldn't solve anything. Merlin, he hated to admit it.

"Do consider it, Severus," Dumbledore went on. "There's no better Potions master in all England than you, and we both know it."

"We also both know," Severus ground out, "that performing Levicorpus on a classmate and stripping said classmate on the grounds in front of the entire school is not a prank. Nor is using one's supposed best friend to lure that classmate to his death _because he exists, if you know what I mean._ The answer is no."

"Severus. I need you. The students need you."

And that's when Severus' next protests died in his mouth. One look into Dumbledore's friendly blue orbs and he knew. The headmaster might've lost a step or two…had Severus heard him slurring a few words? But behind that Father Christmas exterior still beat the heart of a master manipulator. A man who would easily and unrepentantly use students as chess pieces, unless…

Pulled back to the present, Severus shut himself in the dorm supervisor's room in Slytherin and started a strong mug of tea. Peppermint, chamomile, and a dash of mullein, guaranteed to calm the nerves.

Was Finola Frost one of Dumbledore's new chess pieces? Another of his little pawns? If so, what game would he use her in? Severus shook his head. The girl had gumption, he'd give her that. Coming to Hogwarts was a huge step for anyone, even the most pureblooded young witch or wizard. A Muggle-born, and an American, and one already behind the eight ball with a physical disability—coming here took guts the likes of which not even the great Harry Potter ever knew. Severus stroked the silver serpent head on his own walnut cane.

Yet he was fooling himself if he thought Finola Frost was another Potter. She was too careful, too introverted. He'd lain odds she'd end up in Hufflepuff, but the Hat surprised him yet again. Ravenclaw though she might be, Dumbledore would chew her up and spit her out.

"Not my blasted problem," Severus muttered. He'd not get burned again. Besides, Frost was now under the care of that new professor, Swanson. Snape shook his head. What was Dumbledore thinking, hiring the likes of her? A flighty, overly sanguine milksop if he ever saw one. She'd even put those disgraceful streaks in her hair, probably trying to act "cool" to get in good with the students. Well, she'd learn. And Severus couldn't deny, her credentials were impeccable. Swanson might not be as accomplished a duelist as Filius, but she certainly knew her way around and would probably claw the eyes out of anyone who tried to hurt one of her ravens. Plus, she was probably used to dealing with emotional eleven-year-old girls. Let her handle the Frost situation, if situation there would be.

As for Severus himself? He nursed his tea, stroking his cane. He'd be a fool not to have empathy for someone in Frost's position, but it must remain hidden. Besides, though he'd rather take the Dark Mark again than tell anyone, Frost confused the devil out of him already. He'd read up on her disability before she came, when Dumbledore revealed the truth to the professors and Minister Granger-Weasley, but put them under a strict gag order. In most of the cases Severus had studied, children used wheelchairs. Many were cognitively impaired. Some did not even possess basic body, bowel, or bladder control. But other than her spectacles and a definitely stiff, unbalanced gait, Frost seemed as capable as any first-year.

Well, he'd give the girl no quarter. There was no other choice. She could be manipulating as well, using a mild affliction to gain more help than she actually needed. He'd seen it before, with students who did not report disabilities, no less. If Frost wished to be treated as intelligent, she'd have to act so, and if she wanted to run to her Head of House and call him a mean, greasy git, well, let her. Thousands of others had before, and Severus hadn't changed an iota.

Never again. He would not be burned again.

 _Ravenclaw Tower_

Maybe it was anxiety over the remarks in the Great Hall, or perhaps excitement over the first day of classes, but Finola was up before the sun the next day. she was clean and in her school robes in record time, but her new Ravenclaw tie gave her stiff fingers fits. Worse, all her new books were too heavy to fit in her bag at once, and threw her off balance.

"How could they let someone so stupid into Ravenclaw? Look at her tie, her robes...all wrinkled and sloppy like a baby," one of the older girls jeered. "Can't even stand up. Flopping, Freakish Frost."

"Shut it, Primminger, or I start docking points," Holly threatened. "Finola, would it be okay if I helped you?"

"Please," Finola muttered from looking at her shoes.

"Don't worry about Primminger and her lot," Holly muttered, tying Finola's tie in a matter of seconds. "And don't fret about your books. I'm sure Dumbledore can magic some solution, but until then, take only what you need for your first two classes. I've already spoken with your teachers, and they won't mark you tardy if you need to make a run up here or take extra time to get around the castle. Just don't abuse the modification, eh?"

"Never," Finola promised.

"I knew you'd say that. There. You look like a true Ravenclaw now. Whose class do you have first?"

"Potions, and then Charms," Finola answered. "I, uh, memorized my schedule last night."

"Good on ya, girl. Just be careful around Professor Snape. The serpent's fangs are shorter, but he can still bite."

 _Great Hall_

"Congrats on Ravenclaw," Brenna said at breakfast. "But I was sure you were a Gryff from the moment I met you. You seem so brave, coming to Hogwarts with your disability and all."

Finola disguised a pinch of dread with a bite of an apple. People were always doing that, calling her brave for doing ordinary things, and she hated it. It wasn't brave to go to school, or dress herself, or come down to breakfast and eat with a friend, though she had prayed the whole way that none of the staircases would change on her. Hmmm. Maybe coming to a school like Hogwarts was in fact brave. Still...

"We'll see how brave I am after I face Snape in class. Potions is like chemistry, right? Science and math? I was never any good at those."

"But if you're a Ravenclaw, you're probably better than you think," Brenna encouraged. "Lily's got Potions first, too, and the Ravens and Puffs are together. Lucky you. I've got to deal with Slytherin." She made a face at the emerald and silver table, where despite Headmaster's announcement last night, several Slytherins were still gathered. Finola nibbled her apple some more, wondering if one of them had threatened her. She started to tell Brenna, but knowing her, Brenna would try to hex somebody. "I fight my battles myself from now on," Finola promised herself.

"What?"

"Nothing. Tell me about Gryffindor. Is everybody there talking about the Golden Trio?"

"Oh, girl, nonstop. Half the boys think they're Harry Potter Jr. already, even though the kid himself is still tiny. One of the new Gryffindor boys even tried to sneak a Firebolt on the train!"

"You're kidding!"

"No, Amelia Saunders saw it herself. Gosh, what I wouldn't give for one of those - they're letting first years try out for Junior Varsity Quidditch this year. Are you going out?"

"I'm not sure."

Brenna bit her lip. "Oh, I guess you can't. Sorry, that was mean."

Okay, enough. Finola smiled, but kept her tone firm. "No, it wasn't. I don't think you could ever be mean, Brenna. But - if I can't do something, I'll tell you, okay?"

"Okay. Deal. And...can I ask you things? About being a Muggle, or about your - thing? Disability, whatever?"

"Sure, as long as that's not all we talk about. I forgot to ask yesterday - what's your toad's name?"

Brenna laughed. "I wanted to call him Neville, after the new Herbology prof, Neville Longbottom? But it turned out he was a girl. So I picked Sorcha instead."

This touched off a conversation about pets, magical creatures, and Herbology. Finola was about to ask if Herbology was like Muggle biology when Anya Glaszkov sidled up to their table.

"Ah, Frost. Survived your first night, I see. Very good."

Finola pushed her plate back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Anya smirked. "Nothing. Only that people like yourself don't usually make it long in the Wizarding World. I hope you continue to impress me."

"What is that girl's problem?" Finola asked when she and Brenna were alone again.

"For one, she's a Slytherin." Brenna said it as if that were as common and innocent a fact as, "she has blue eyes." Brenna spoke around a bite of the scone she'd chomped into. "Unity or not, some of them still believe in that blood purity crap, and I bet she's one of them. Probably related to a Malfoy, too. Did I ever tell you what Draco's parents did to…"

Whatever Brenna meant to say was cut off when clock chimes signaled classes would begin soon. With a promise to meet up at lunch, Finola hurried toward Potions and the dungeons.

 _Potions Classroom, Dungeons_

"Whatever rumors you have heard about me favoring Slytherin, they will find no credence here. I will not hesitate to take or give points when they are deserved, no matter your house. You will find me unfailingly fair, but also unapologetically exacting. With that said, let the torture begin." Professor Snape said that last bit with a little wink and acerbic twist of the mouth, but his smile never reached his eyes.

Finola didn't care if the other students thought Potions was difficult or a walk in the park. Her eyes wouldn't let her keep up with the difference between clockwise and counterclockwise stirring, so she botched it. Measuring ingredients was a nightmare, too. Even pushing her spectacles down and squinting didn't help her see what she was doing, and pouring was a disaster.

"Ugh! You idiot! Professor, Freakish Frost just splashed me with a tincture of fish eyes!"

"I'm so sorry, I...can I help you?" Finola cried out.

"Get away from me, freak!" The other student, a Hufflepuff girl with an upturned nose and pompous voice, shoved Finola backward. Her beaker dropped and shattered. Finola scarcely had time to muse on why this girl got into Hufflepuff at all before Lily Corrigan started yelling at her housemate and Snape put two fingers in his mouth, letting out a piercing whistle.

"That. Will Be. Quite. Enough." His low, cold voice seemed to increase the dungeon's dampness. "Miss Stuart, your name-calling just cost Hufflepuff five points." Snape took a long, dour look into Finola's cauldron.

"Miss Frost, I expected better from you. This potion is deplorable." And with that, he scooped up Finola's cauldron and vanished its contents into thin air.

"Professor, it wasn't her fault," Lily protested.

"It's okay, Lily," Finola managed. She made herself meet Snape's eyes. "It _was_ my fault. I should've told you. I have so much trouble with my eyes and everything, and…"

"Spare me the excuses, Frost. Your eyes are clearly not as inadequate as you claim, or else you would be illiterate. I don't know what your Muggle school tolerated, but I will not have your whining and manipulation in this class. Twenty points from Ravenclaw for attempting, quite badly, to pull that over on me. It's a good thing you aren't in Slytherin; you are a dreadful liar. And that disgrace of a potion gets Troll marks from me."

Finola froze. She didn't know much about wizard grades, but knew enough to recognize Snape just handed her a zero. A zero, and from a Ravenclaw, when she was supposed to be smart! Why, when she tried so hard, couldn't she get things right? And this was supposed to be an easy potion, one any first year could do. But she grabbed onto a thin thread of hope. Perhaps, like so many of her other teachers, Professor Snape hadn't understood. Perhaps she didn't explain it right. After all, this aspect of cerebral palsy wasn't common, and Finola hated talking about it. Maybe she only needed more practice.

"I..." She cleared her throat, squared her shoulders. "I understand why you would say that, but reading and brewing potions aren't quite the same thing, you see. I understand what you want me to do, it's just…"

"Then why didn't you do it?" Snape demanded. "Are you retarded as well as deformed?"

"W-what?" Had he said what she thought he said? No, no that couldn't be right…

"Answer me. Are you retarded?"

"N-no! I…"

"Stop stammering and act like the young adult you claim to be—unless your cognitive age has been severely underestimated. You are a liar who uses her deficiencies as a crutch, and I will not have it. Do you understand me?"

"I…I…"To her mortification, tears welled behind Finola's spectacles. This was just like in Muggle school, when she cried over bad grades in math.

"Professor, this isn't fair!" Lily cried out.

"Neither is life, Miss Corrigan. The sooner you and your manipulative little friend learn that, the better. The marks and point loss stand. As for you, Frost…"

Finola held her breath. Now Lily probably pitied her and saw her as some baby to care for, just like the girls at her old school did, and probably Brenna, too. Worse, Snape was probably going to take her out in the hall and yell at her for crying, just like Ms. Dandridge did once, back in second grade. She ordered the tears to stop, but they wouldn't. Thank heaven they were silent, and she wasn't wailing like a baby in front of everyone.

Snape loomed over her. "Enough, Miss Frost. I have limped about this school ever since Voldemort's bloody snake took a chunk out of my leg, but you do not see me crying about it and expecting breaks from everyone."

"I'm not…I…you…"

"Enough, I said!" Snape reached for Finola, as if to pull her from the floor.

What happened next, Finola couldn't describe accurately, even years later. All she knew was that a terrified gasp ripped from her throat. She met her professor's cold, serpentine eyes, and all of a sudden, her wand was out of her robe and pointing toward him.

"Don't! You're not going to treat me like everybody else has!" She raised the wand, voice and hand trembling. "You are an _evil_ man!"

The entire class stared, Snape included.

"Get out, Frost."

Finola shoved her wand back into her pocket. "Professor, I…"

"I said, _get out!"_

Finola ran.


	4. Chapter 4: Finding a Fit

Chapter 4:

 **A/N: The Grey Lady's dialogue is italicized because she's a ghost; her voice sounds more like a vapor.**

Finola's robes flapped behind her like the wings of a broken, wheeling raven. She didn't know where she was going and didn't care. Fresh tears blinded her. What had she been thinking, pulling her wand on a teacher? That was probably as bad as a Muggle student pulling a gun. She'd lose her scholarship, probably be expelled, too. Worse, everyone would know she truly was a damaged little idiot.

A stitch in her side overcame her, and she fell headlong on the castle floor. She didn't bother trying to get up this time. Maybe down on the floor was where people like her belonged.

" _No. It most certainly is not."_

Finola's head jerked up. "Who said that?"

The woman from the Great Hall, the ghost, floated down toward her. What had Holly called her? The Grey Lady, that's right. But if the Grey Lady was a ghost, surely she'd come for revenge. At least it wasn't the Slytherin ghost, who'd probably kill her on the spot for what she'd done.

 _"No, Finola Frost. Don't be afraid."_

"W-what are you doing here?" Finola managed.

The Grey Lady gently pushed Finola to a sitting position, raising her chin to meet her ghostly visage. " _One of my ravens is hurt, my child. Of course I'm here."_

"Then you know what happened. You know what a horrible thing I did, and that Dumbledore's gonna kick me out."

"Oh, I wouldn't count on that."

Another female voice, but far less ethereal, wafted from…a portrait? Finola looked up, meeting penetrating, yet compassionate green eyes. Green eyes and red hair, just like…

"It's you! You were my an—I mean, I met you before."

"Yes you did, and you may call me Lily. Helena?"

The Grey Lady seemed to conjure something out of the air, a clear vial fashioned from what looked like diamonds. When Finola recognized what she was doing, she put her hand to her cheek. "Why are you…"

"To remind you of Someone else who counts your tears," Lily said, pointing upward. "And it will help us explain things to Severus."

Finola sniffed. "No one can explain anything to him. I thought…in the books, he was a tyrant at first. A real sadist. But then he seemed so sympathetic, I knew there was good in him. I just knew. But…"

"You feel betrayed," Lily finished. Her kind emerald eyes grew sad. "Yes, Severus made me feel the same way once."

"When he called you a…a…the M word," Finola said, loathe to use what in the Wizarding World counted as a racial or ethnic slur. "But he didn't mean it, not really. He was just—but with me, I think he meant it. He thinks I'm a liar and a manipulator, and if he thinks so, the other teachers might, too. And I wanted so badly to do well here."

 _"You will,"_ the Grey Lady assured her.

"Yes," Lily agreed. "Your first instincts about Severus were right, Finola. Give him a chance. More important, give yourself a chance. The Grey Lady and I, your friends, Minister Granger-Weasley, we're all rooting for you."

"I might get expelled," Finola warned them.

" _Don't borrow trouble, little bird,"_ encouraged the Grey Lady. _"Let's get you back to the Ravenclaw Common Room. You need time to wash your face and prepare for what comes next."_

What came next? The very idea made Finola so ill she actually leaned over and retched, but nothing came up. The Grey Lady just draped her in a comforting vapor and led her back to the common room door.

"Ah, Finola Frost," the eagle knocker said. "Time for your first riddle. I cry, but I shed no tears. What am I?"

"You're a broken heart," Finola murmured.

"Correct. You may enter."

Finola did so, and lay face down on one of the sofas. "A broken, shattered, decimated to a pulp, heart."

Finola must've slept, because the next thing she was conscious of was a voice. "Come on, baby girl. Wake up. I'll get you to the hospital wing if you need it."

Finola jumped. "Professor Swanson!" She didn't need a mirror to know she was a mess. Professor Swanson would probably take points for her untidy appearance. Hurriedly, she fumbled with her tie and tried to smooth down her hair.

"Hey, relax. I've got this." Professor Swanson took out a wand and waved it. "Spit and Polish." She chuckled. "In the good old USA, we don't bother with that Latin stuff. You're Finola, right? The other American at Hogwarts."

"Not for long," Finola said. She plopped back onto the couch. "This morning was just awful. I cried in front of everyone in Potions, and I hate crying, but I couldn't help it. I just felt so stupid and helpless. And I didn't mean to pull my wand on Professor Snape, honest. I thought he was gonna grab me, and I got scared."

"Yeah, I know. Lily Corrigan from Hufflepuff filled me in. I came down here worried when you didn't show for Charms class. I've read your files, and that's not like you. Your Muggle teachers all say you're a brilliant, conscientious, respectful young lady."

"Yeah, well, Hogwarts teachers are gonna call me a retarded troublemaker."

Now it was Professor Swanson's turn to point her wand, though not the business end. "Okay, baby girl, listen here. I don't want to hear the R word out of your mouth again, especially when describing yourself. I don't know how it is around Hogwarts, but at Ilvermorny, that counts as an ableist slur and I don't tolerate slurs."

"Tell that to Professor Snape. He called me r—I mean, that name—in front of everyone. He said I was a liar and manipulator, and that my cognitive age didn't match my chronological one."

At that, Professor Swanson's mouth went from reassuring smile to irritated slash. Her eyes darkened from bluish-green to cobalt with little jade flecks. She shook her head. "Hoo boy. As my mama would've said, that man's got a mouth worse than a whole ship of sailors."

Finola had to chuckle, though the sound was mirthless. "Your mom sounds like my grandma. She talks like that. You didn't grow up near Hollyhock Village, did you?"

She put her finger to her lips. "As a pureblood, I can't disclose that. But I can tell you a few things. One, my mama was from the American South. Two, my dad was a New Yorker. I've got the best of both in me, which means I am more than equipped to deal with one Severus Snape."

"I'm not sure about that. He'll eat you alive."

"Trust me on this." Professor Swanson winked. "Let me do some damage control. In the meantime, you take a breather. Stay here until I come and get you. And remember, Finola—your name is the only way people can define you. You're not what he said, and you're every bit who _you_ want to be." She stood up.

"Don't worry, kid. You're gonna be all right."

 _Headmaster's Office_

"She pulled her wand on you?" Dumbledore repeated.

Severus sighed. "Yes, but it was more than that. She called me evil." The moment he said it, he wanted to Crucio himself. He sounded like the petty schoolboy Dumbledore said he wasn't, but always seemed to treat him as. Still… He barely managed a tight grip on his emotions.

It wasn't the name. In his years of teaching, students had called Severus Snape evil and worse, most names laced with some form of profanity. And since that night in the Shrieking Shack, when Severus had been given his second chance, he'd also stopped aging, as part of the deal. Thus, he was now stuck in his late thirties, facing down potential decades of more students calling him evil, the greasy git of the dungeons, dungeon bat, and who knew what all. No, he could cope with "evil."

But the way she'd said it, with more confidence than he'd known the little witch possessed, with such _knowing_ in those bespectacled eyes. As if she could read his soul. He snorted. Being a Christian, she probably thought she could. He'd half expected her to call down fire and thunder on him by the power of her God, if he believed in such, which he most assuredly did _not_. Yet that offered him little comfort. The way Finola Frost had called him evil, it was as if she knew, down to her bones, the truth he barely let himself whisper in the night. As if she knew…it was true.

Dumbledore waved toward a chair opposite his desk. "Sherbert lemon? If anyone deserves one, it's you."

"No, thank you." Severus kept his tone measured, but icy. "I'd prefer to keep my teeth in my head." And his faculties. Dumbledore could deny it from now to Doomsday, but the lacing of his sweets with Veritaserum was an open secret at Hogwarts. Thank Merlin for Severus' accomplished Occlumency abilities…but a vulnerable first year like Finola Frost wouldn't stand a chance. _And why in the good name of Merlin do I care?_

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "Threatening a professor is a serious offense. In these times, it warrants expulsion."

Severus clenched his jaw so hard his teeth scraped against each other. Not so long ago, he'd have gunned for that very thing. But for Dumbledore to say such about his new Wonder Witch? His weapon, if indeed that's what she was? What was the old man playing at? Well, one way to find out. He studied Dumbledore from under his lids, using every ounce of Legillimency training he possessed.

 _Gifted, yes…one of the Gifted. Hogwarts needs her if the rumors of this new enemy are true. But she's replaceable, particularly if she's trouble._

Heat radiated through Severus' core. Replaceable, was she? And as he feared, Finola Frost was walking directly into a chess game. _Sick, deceptive moron,_ Severus seethed. He couldn't let this happen again. And yet, without good reason, he couldn't disagree with Dumbledore, not without raising suspicions. A quick look at the headmaster revealed a subtle sparkle behind that regretful mask. He'd trapped Severus again and knew it. _Check._ Severus swore.

The air in the headmaster's office suddenly went frigid, just before the Ravenclaw house ghost swept in. Behind her came Monica Swanson, black, calf-length skirt swishing behind her, sparkling blue sweater making her look like a bubbly university student. But her posture and expression said she was here to kill if necessary.

"Headmaster, I am sorry to interrupt," Swasnon began, "but I was just in my common room. I found one of my ravens crumpled on the couch, all to pieces over Potions class, thinking she's gonna get expelled."

"Perhaps you'll change your tune when you hear what happened," Severus warned.

Swanson's gaze impaled him. "I already got the scoop from several students. Heck, some kid with one of those darn smartphones videoed the whole thing. Severus, for crying out loud, the girl's got a disability, and is a raging perfectionist to boot. Did you have to make a federal case over her messing up a cure for boils potion?"

"I will make a 'federal case' of what I please, Professor Swanson. Laziness and manipulation deserve punishment."

"If that's even what it was, which I'm sure it wasn't. The way I hear it, you called her names, including "retarded," in front of your entire class, drove her to tears, and then kicked her out."

Albus' eyebrows lifted. "Severus. Is this true?"

"I merely made it clear I expected Frost to accept the truth, that she uses her disability as an excuse and crutch, and that she has lied…" Severus broke off. It was an excuse, it was weak, and it tasted sour in his mouth.

 _"That was mean, Severus."_

Severus whipped toward the Grey Lady. Though the ghost's mouth moved, it wasn't her voice. It was Lily's. Little, nine-year-old Lily, scolding Severus for insulting her prig of a sister.

"Lily." Severus mouthed the word. His memories catapulted him back to the night Nagini almost sent him to his death. How he'd ached for Lily's forgiveness, for a second chance. He'd received both, but now, was his dearest friend, only love, warning him again? Could he possibly have misjudged the Frost girl?

 _"Headmaster. Professor Snape. With your permission?"_ The Grey Lady offered a vial. Severus held in a flinch at what it surely contained. Tears. The Frost girl's tears, which he had caused.

"We haven't time for the Pensieve just now," Dumbledore insisted. "I'll have to owl the Ministry right away and—"

"Not yet, sir," Severus interrupted. "I'd like to see her memories."

"Severus, my boy, I fail to understand…"

"Then perhaps you can wait until I understand." Severus laced his tone with warning. "After all, it's not as if the girl knew any spells. The worst she might have done was mangle an incantation or two."

"All right," Dumbledore conceded. "But do make this quick. I refuse to let Finola Frost stew all day."

 _Inside the Pensieve_

Had Severus not been upright, the shock of what the Pensieve revealed would've bowled him over.

As if it knew the issue at hand, the first thing it revealed was a memory of Frost at about nine, in Muggle school. Her teacher was leading a mathematical unit on measurements and basic geometric work, asking students to do things like use rulers and manipulate protractors. Frost had a scribe to help her with the written work, but with the Pensieve, Severus literally saw those measurements through her eyes. Or rather, didn't.

The tiny lines on the ruler, and the ones in the geometric figures, blurred and jumped in front of him. Nothing made sense. And his head…oh, his head throbbed as if he'd drunk a gallon of Firewhiskey. Realization, and regret, stabbed the professor's heart. Frost wasn't being defiant or lazy. The issue was not that she _wouldn't_ brew a potion correctly. She simply _couldn't._

Other memories added to the truth. Memories of clumsy fingers and aching hands. Persistent headaches, even with spectacles. Memories of spending recess and lunch alone every day, buried in a book, because classmates wouldn't go near her—except to touch her on a dare, then run off and give other people "retard cooties." Memories of missing school to walk up and down halls in neurological and physical clinics, or to be evaluated _ad nauseam._ Memories of painful braces, muscle-loosening injections, terrible mathematics grades, and discipline for those grades that, while fair and not abusive, was certainly undeserved.

Searching for vindication, Severus probed every tear, every moment, hoping Frost told her parents how she felt about the endless tests and therapy sessions, or that she reported the bullying. He found some, but they only worsened matters. He forced himself to listen in on conversations—

" _Why do I have to miss school again? I like school! It's a lot better than this stupid therapy!"_

" _Finola, get in the car. We have talked and talked about this. Without therapy, you won't be independent. Look at you, eight years old and you can't even tie your shoes."_

" _So? That's what slip-ons are for."_

" _Slip-ons are a crutch. You need to learn this stuff. Mom and I won't always be there to help you."_

 _HPHPHP…._

" _You filled the whole week with therapy and doctors' appointments? But that's my entire spring break!"_

" _I know honey, and I'm sorry, but it was the only time we could get off work. You know how long the drive to the clinic takes."_

" _They're just going to say the same thing they always do. I'll never be cured of cerebral palsy, so why bother with this?"_

Oftentimes, Severus observed, this led to full arguments, especially as Finola grew older and could assert herself more. Those arguments usually devolved into yelling, tears, and disciplinary action—spanking, confiscated novels, cancellation of fun outings, what have you. According to some of Finola's memories, she'd learned that sticking up for herself equaled making trouble, so even when she should, she learned not to do it.

But none of that was the worst. Severus could only stand by, disgusted with himself, while his newest student endured verbal lashings from students and teachers alike.

 _"Freak!"_

 _"Retard!"_

 _"She's such a snob, thinks she's better than us."_

 _"Finola Frost. What a stupid, retard name."_

 _"Stop crying over a math worksheet. Get out in the hallway. You get an F the rest of the day."_

 _"If your printer doesn't work, it means you are not prepared for the day. Go sit in the corner."_

 _"Mr. and Mrs. Frost, I believe Finola is lying and manipulating to get out of doing work. How can she read books if she can't see mathematical operations?"_

 _"Finola, everyone else can do this. You're not even trying."_

 _"I'm going to start making you do this. There's no excuse…"_

Severus yanked his head from the Pensieve and collapsed into the chair Dumbledore offered earlier.

At least the girl had loving parents to offset all this torment. That was more than he could say for some students. Mrs. Frost in particular, some sort of school trustee, had stuck up for her daughter on more than one occasion. Despite their foibles and blind spots in dealing with their daughter's disability, Severus was confident they'd never purposely hurt her. The corporal punishment, he heartily disapproved of, but then, some parents felt it was their right. At least the Frosts hadn't done it often, or hard. The girl never had a mark on her. And yet, to be talked to the way she was, to have cerebral palsy take precedence over what she could do well, to be disciplined over seemingly every little thing… Severus sighed. If verbal abuse resulted in scars, Finola Frost would be an utter mess.

And magic? Severus snorted to himself. She barely used it, even accidentally, having been told such things were for make-believe and stories. One crucial memory showed a Sunday school teacher warning her that any talk of magic indicated an interest in the occult. "And God hates witches and sorcerers," she'd said. _Blasted, self-righteous Muggle._ If God hated Finola Frost, who clearly loved whoever that was with her whole heart, then the universe was in deep trouble.

 _And then what does her first magical teacher do,_ Severus mused, _but add to it._

 _"Then make it right."_ _Lily's voice again._

"Expulsion is off the table," he informed Dumbledore, in the voice that made first years, heck even some seventh years, quake in their shoes. "What is on the table is an inter-house meeting. I'd like all the heads of house to come here at once."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "Perhaps as they will all be her professors, they should each have a say in the punishment Finola Frost deserves."

"Let's not be premature," Severus cautioned. "But yes. What the girl _deserves_ from us warrants serious discussion."

 _Later…_

In what seemed a blink, Professor Swanson was back, sitting next to Finola in the common room.

"The headmaster will see you now," she said. "Professors Snape, McGonagall, and Longbottom are there, too."

Finola's head was suddenly so light she feared it would pop off her shoulders. All the professors? Had they decided throwing the book at her would be more effective if they did it together? What, they were gonna let Dumbledore snap her wand and each take a twig?

"You'll be fine," Swanson coached. "I'll be there with you."

Finola pulled herself to full height. Enough fretting and crying. From this day forward, tears were taboo. She deserved her punishment and darn it, she'd take it like a woman. Even if right now, she felt as vulnerable as a three-year-old and all she wanted was her mother. She stood next to Swanson. "Okay, let's go, then."

"Miss Frost," Dumbledore greeted when she and Flitwick entered the office. "Come in. Sherbert lemon, my dear?"

"No, no thanks." Finola's voice hardly worked. Why the heck was the man offering her candy? Why didn't he just get it over with? Well, if he wouldn't, she would. She turned toward Professor Snape.

"Sir, I know it won't mean anything. But I am sorry about Potions class. I never should've called you evil or pulled my wand. I don't know what came over me, but that's no excuse." She clenched her left hand over her right to keep it from shaking, then offered her wand to Dumbledore. "Sir."

Dumbledore stared down at her, eyes unreadable. "Miss Frost, why are you offering me your wand?"

Oh, what was it with this guy and letting her dangle? "Aren't you going to, you know, snap it?"

The room went dead silent for so long, Finola dared look around. Professor Longbottom, a guy with a cardigan and warm brown eyes, looked like somebody just ran his kitten over. Professor McGonagall's eyes were wide, her mouth an O. Professor Swanson was beaming—what was she, nuts? And Snape…

Professor Snape's eyes remained inscrutable, face set in granite lines. Oh, maybe he wanted to do the honors. Finola offered him the wand.

"Put that away, Miss Frost." Though authoritarian, Snape's voice now carried an evenness, perhaps mercy, she hadn't known he possessed. Finola obeyed, thoroughly confused.

"Sit down," Snape continued. Once she had, he sat as well, turning his chair to face her. _What the heck?_

As Finola watched, her professor's face actually softened. "I appreciate your apology and…your honesty," he said after a pause. "But the truth is, it's I who owe you an apology. In a way, we all do. This never would've happened if some of us had used our heads."

"Severus," Dumbledore warned. But the professor held up a hand.

"Let me finish, Albus. It happened in my classroom and is therefore my responsibility." Snape returned his attention to Finola.

"Frost, certain—developments have occurred in the last while. Some—friends were kind enough to inform me of things I did not see this morning." His voice, and head, dropped a bit. "Did not want to see."

"That's okay," Finola said now. "A lot of people think…"

"No, it is _not_ okay. It is never okay for someone to judge you without knowing you, particularly if the one doing the judging is a teacher who should know better. What I said was not okay, and none of it was true. I know it may be impossible, but forget you ever heard it."

Finola pulled in a breath. Snape's voice vibrated with sincerity, and yet…

"You humiliated me," she couldn't help saying. "I tried to tell you what I needed and you wouldn't listen. This has happened so many times…" She broke off and started over. "Professor Snape, I know you've only known me for like, three hours and I didn't make the best first impression. But please believe I'm not manipulating anyone. I only want to do well, to fit in here. And you—you told me I couldn't. I can't just forget."

Snape scowled then, and Finola braced herself for another tirade. But instead, the dark-clad professor with the midnight black demeanor only nodded.

"I can accept that. I can't go back and undo it. And I warn you Frost, I am not an easy instructor. By the end of term, you'll probably still despise Potions and you may despise me. But I can promise you, from now on, you and I will deal only in truth. As in, I will approach you as the blisteringly intelligent, capable student you truly are—and you are to approach me with respect, but as a student, not a quavering mouse, and tell the truth of what you need."

Finola must've looked confused, because Professor Swanson leaned forward. "I think what the guy's asking for here is forgiveness. A clean slate."

Finola gaped. "Um, with every ounce of due respect, who are you and what did you do with Professor Snape?"

That shattered the ice. The entire room cracked up. Dumbledore, in fact, looked ready to fall off his chair. Professor McGonagall came over and swept Finola into a hug.

"I've waited years for someone to stand up to that man," she whispered in Finola's ear. "I had a hunch it'd be someone like you."

"All right, enough silliness." Snape's voice slashed through the air like a sword. "Frost?" He held out a hand, and Finola met her teacher's eyes again. This time, they weren't dead or serpentine, but serious. Weary. On edge. Finola's heart actually squeezed. When had Severus Snape ever asked forgiveness, and how could she say no? She shook his hand, using the firmest grip she could.

"Deal. By the way, I'm Finola Frost. It's nice to meet you."

Her teacher actually smiled. "And I am your Potions instructor, Professor Snape. I've heard several things about you, notably that you may need assistance getting along in class. So I expect nothing less than total honesty when I ask—how can I, and we, help you?"

Finola blushed from her hairline to her toes, unsure at first. No teacher had ever asked her such a question. Usually, everybody told her what she needed or deserved and expected her to toe the line. But now, she found herself sitting in Dumbledore's office, spilling her guts about eleven years of navigating the educational system with invisible, yet undeniable, physical difficulties. Dumbledore offered her sherbert lemons every now and then, but the more she talked, the drier her mouth became.

"I think our young lady might prefer a nice cuppa," McGonagall finally said in a soft Scottish burr, conjuring one out of the air. "Milk and sugar—I know most children your age aren't yet up to the real stuff."

"Thank you, ma'am. And, um, thank you all. I'm so, so sorry to have taken up your time and missed my classes. And Professor Snape, if you still want me to serve detention or something, I'll do that."

"Do not apologize, Frost," Snape commanded. "Apologies are for transgressions, and you have already punished yourself enough for the one you did commit. Besides, I doubt sorting potion ingredients or scrubbing cauldrons in my classroom would truly get anything done."

Finola blushed again. "Yeah, I probably couldn't get those cauldrons as clean as you'd like."

Snape had to laugh then, perhaps his first real laugh in a while. He couldn't help it. Somehow, this little dynamo saw right down to his bones. "Indeed. As for your classes, you haven't missed too much. Only Charms, and I'm sure Professor Swanson would be amenable to a make-up."

"Of course," Swanson agreed. "Study hall tonight, in my classroom?"

"Okay."

Dumbledore stood then, businesslike expression firmly back in place. "I'm so glad this turned out well for everyone. Miss Frost, fear no longer. You will find that here, you'll have ample opportunity to use your gifts, however they may manifest themselves. But for now, I think we all have work to get back to. Miss Frost, I do believe Transfiguration is next on your schedule. Meeting adjourned."

Finola left the headmaster's office feeling pounds lighter, as if she could perform Wingardium Leviosa on herself had she the inclination – which she didn't. Her parents, pastor, and Sunday school teachers had always taught her to believe in mercy, but much as she tried to extend it to others, she'd never felt she deserved any herself. But today…

An iron grip around her elbow stopped her cold. Her first instinct was to pull away, but she found she couldn't. Dumbledore glowered down at her, all grandfatherly elements gone from his face.

"That was a warning, Frost. You may be a gifted witch, but you are not the Child-Who-Lived, nor are you infallible. If I _ever_ hear of anything like what you did to Snape happening again, you'll find your wand snapped and yourself trapped in our world forever, in a place where you'll never see the light of day again. Am I clear?"

"I…I…" Finola could only nod.

"Good." Dumbledore brandished his wand at her. "Obliviate!"

Finola blinked, surprised to find the kindly headmaster patting her on the shoulder. "It's all right, dear. Go on, you don't want to be late. Oh, and I've personally enchanted the staircases so they'll stay in place when you need them."

"Thank you," Finola murmured as the headmaster left. She shook her head. He'd been so kind to her, kinder than she deserved. And yet she couldn't shake the idea that something was terribly, horribly, irrevocably wrong. Perhaps he was just more upset about Snape than she thought. Yeah, that must be it. She hurried toward the east wing and Transfiguration.

 **A/N: Please read and review. For those of you wondering where Lupin is, no worries! You'll see him next chapter, and it's gonna be good!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

"Acceptable…passable…better than yesterday, but you still have a way to go…ah, Miss Frost. Let's see what the damage is, shall we?"

 _It doesn't mean anything. That's just the way Snape says, "I want to check your potion." Don't assume everyone's out to get you._ With that stern reminder, Finola forced herself to let her ladle rest in her cauldron and glued her eyes to a spot on the back wall. Though she ordered it to, her pulse wouldn't stop racing, and her breathing wouldn't even itself out.

Ever since the meeting in Dumbledore's office, Finola had relaxed a little. Knowing what they now did, the professors often let the Q&A and academic parts of class count more toward her grades than the hands-on stuff. Modified equipment, such as enlarged diagrams and potion phials, helped as well. But you simply couldn't do magic without trying it first. Finola's wand work, while not horrid, remained stiff and uncertain on specific motions. She couldn't trim or pot a plant in Herbology without a partner, or sometimes Professor Longbottom, guiding her hands. And Potions…well, Potions was just too much like math. One little mistake and the whole thing was wrong. It didn't matter how hard she'd worked or how heavily she leaned on modifications.

"Humph." Snape's guttural assessment brought her back to the present. "Too little mandrake root, too much heliotrope, and too much heat. Fortunately for you, with today's other classwork, it evens out to an A. A borderline A."

 _A for acceptable. A for "almost, but not quite." A for "asinine mistake."_ But that was hardly Snape's fault. Finola stretched her mouth into her signature smile. A Sunday school smile, a "good handicapped girl" smile. The kind that made people say stupid things like, "She fails so much, but never complains." _Idiots._ "Thank you, Professor."

"Don't thank me for the grade you earned. Bottle that and you are dismissed. Miss Kettleburn?" He nodded to Brenna. "Assist your classmate."

"Harsh much?" Brenna whispered after Snape moved from earshot. "I made the same mistake you did and got an A+. I swear, he picks on you more than anyone else."

"He just doesn't want me or anybody else to think I'm getting off easy because of…" Finola reached for her stopper. "He's just strict, that's all."

"'That's all,' she says," Brenna harrumphed. She lowered her voice even more. "If you ask me, you did the right thing that first week. I'd have hexed him into Christmas, the bat-winged git." She shook her head. "What've you got next?"

Finola sighed. "Herbology with Slytherin. More trimming, transferring, and who knows what else." She left her potion on Snape's desk and headed upstairs behind Brenna. "Magic is much more difficult than I hoped it would be. Maybe I don't belong here."

Brenna came alongside and punched Finola in the shoulder. "Sure you do. Why else would you have magic, if not to use it? You're a Christian, right? So then God must've given it to you."

"But why? And what if He—" Finola clapped her mouth shut. She'd spent most of her life wondering if God made a mistake in creating her, never mind giving her magic, or brains nobody cared about because she couldn't tie shoes, or cut food, or whatever. But to voice the thought was probably blasphemy.

"Look at you, Bren," she said instead. "McGonagall's class yesterday—you were terrific. You not only transfigured that needle into a matchstick, but you got the match to light when nobody else could. And Lily…the way she figured out the perfect soil conditions for those mushroom samples, that was amazing. Professor Longbottom fell all over himself giving Hufflepuff points. And me? Well…"

"There's a reason you're here, too." Brenna stopped outside the greenhouses and reached into her robe pocket. "I wasn't gonna mention it, but look here. _The Daily Prophet."_

"Bren, you know I don't read that." Finola well remembered Rita Skeeter's role in Harry Potter's time at Hogwarts, and refused to even think of reading the tabloid-like news source.

"Yeah, but maybe this time you should. Look."

"Okay, okay." Finola scanned the page.

 **GIFTED WITCHES ARRIVE AT LAST?**

 **New crop of first-years has Wizarding World wondering**

 **Rita Skeeter, Correspondent**

 _Barely two weeks ago, a new term began at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, filled with hope and bright predictions from Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Despite questionable hiring decisions, including a foreign Charms professor and the reinstatement of Severus Snape, wartime headmaster and now permanently disabled following a venom-bite induced stroke…_

"Blah, blah, blah. Skip down to this part," Brenna urged.

… _Finally, the arrival of these first-years, particularly the witches, has brought a long-forgotten prophecy to the minds of many. Though all specifics are unclear, we know the prophecy mentions four of Hogwarts' youngest witches, each gifted in one or two particular core subjects. Blood status is mixed, the prophecy goes on to say, and there are already distinct possibilities._

 _An anonymous source was able to interview the illustrious Minerva McGonagall, who reports her student Brenna Kettleburn of Belfast, Northern Ireland already shows a Granger-like aptitude for Transfiguration. Sources also speculate Gifted tendencies in Misses Lily Corrigan and Anya Glazkov, both pureblood witches from legacy families. Corrigan, named for our own Lily Evans Potter, hails from Glasgow, Scotland, while Glazkov, Romanian/Russian by birth, is an English citizen lately of London. The Glazkovs have long been revered as part of Mother Russia's Pureblood Circle, the equivalent of our Sacred Twenty-Eight._

 _Of course, that's only three. Speculation runs rampant about the fourth witch, a Muggle-born. Our eyes are currently on two possibilities, both from Ravenclaw House. The first is Finola Frost, an American scholarship student with the endorsement of the Minister of Magic herself. However, Miss Frost is afflicted with a disabling Muggle disease, and this correspondent doubts…_

"Ugh!" Finola crumpled the paper.

"Oh, sorry, mate." Brenna scowled. "I didn't read that far. But you get it, right? You could be the fourth witch. The last member of the Gifted."

"But there's somebody else. Someone normal." Finola pointed. "See, her name's right here. Thalia Harrington, Cornwall, England, first of her family to show magic in six generations. Already pulling straight O's, _plus_ she won Junior Miss _Witch Weekly_ three years in a row. Now, which one sounds like the fourth witch to you?"

"You do."

"You're my friend. You have to say that."

"I'm a Gryffindor. We don't say what we don't mean."

"And I'm a Ravenclaw. As in, logical. As in two and two makes four. Two and two, not three and—and a pathetic little half."

Brenna got in Finola's face. "Okay, girlfriend. I'm warning you. One more word like that, and I'll make Snape look like a teddy bear. I know more hexes than all of Slytherin House, so don't make me use them."

"Ahem. Ladies?" Professor Longbottom stuck his head out of the nearest greenhouse. "You're cutting it close. Frost, thirty seconds and you're late, even with modified time."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir." Finola hurried in, mouthing "later" to her friend.

"All right, class, let's begin," Professor Longbottom announced. "We're not working with mandrakes, but you'll need your earmuffs. Today's project is the All-Weather Orchid, a magical flower that, as its name implies, blooms beautifully even in harsh conditions. They're beautiful and mostly harmless, but they do carry a siren's song that can be dangerous if heard." He chuckled. "Once, Professor Sprout left me alone with a whole greenhouse of them. She came back to find me in nothing but my socks and underwear, playing air guitar and screaming, 'GOOD NIGHT, HOGWARTS!'"

The class cracked up. In short order, Professor Longbottom's This One Time in Herbology stories had become famous. But Finola could only manage a giggle. Her nearest partner, across the table, was Anya Glazkov. Slytherin, potential Gifted witch, and— _the one who calls me a Mudblood._ Finola tightened her earmuffs. The word she'd only understood as a fantasy-world slur before, now made her cringe. Mudblood—dirty blood. Since coming to Hogwarts, she _felt_ dirty. Helpless. Inept. Worthless. She turned her eyes to the ceiling. "God? If you truly sent me here, please show me why."

"What was that?" Anya demanded.

"Nothing."

"Well, keep it down and don't distract me."

"Remember to trim the stem to the exact height on the board before attempting the transfer," the professor called over sudden singing.

 _If I have to measure one more thing today…_ Finola double- and triple-checked using an enlarged ruler, checked again, and reached for her knife. She considered asking for Anya's help, but the other girl's eyes were so steely, she didn't dare. Their emerald depths matched her Slytherin cardigan, but didn't sparkle. _No wonder she's in Snape's house. They're probably best buddies—ouch!_ Too late, Finola glimpsed blood where she'd gouged her finger. She popped the digit in her mouth, hoping no one noticed.

"Merlin's beard." Anya snatched the knife. "If you needed help, why didn't you just ask me?"

Finola nearly swallowed her finger. "What?"

"Are you too prideful to keep from killing yourself, or is that just a Mudblood trait?"

"Miss Glazkov!" Professor Longbottom barked. "Fifty points from Slytherin for using that word—and you just bought yourself a detention." He moved closer to the table. "All right, Miss Frost? I can assist if…"

"No thanks, we got it. Anya was actually helping. I think the—the word just…slipped out," Finola heard herself say.

Longbottom smiled a bit. "The detention stands, but I'll take that point total down from fifty to forty." He moved to the next table.

Anya's mouth formed words, but Finola didn't catch them. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Anya repeated, directly into her ear. "When you hear it all the time…never mind. Let me help you with that transfer before you make a mess of the entire greenhouse."

 _Great Hall, Lunch Period_

"She apologized to you?" Lily asked. "Wow. Either you're nicer than I thought or Anya's sick. Slytherins don't say sorry."

"I guess not," Finola agreed. "Still, there's something about her I kind of like."

"You're mental," Brenna accused. "She's a Slytherin, for crying out loud. Do you know how many of them were Death Eaters? Do you know what they did to Harry Potter and the trio, and…"

"Maybe Anya's different. And well, would you feel that way if she were in one of our houses?"

Brenna's expression shuttered. "Don't ask things like that. You're a Muggle. You only read a bit of what we went through."

"That doesn't mean I don't understand what it's like to be judged for what you can't control." She drank some water. "Besides, Anya's a Gifted witch. You and I will probably end up working with her. At least, you will."

Brenna shrugged. "You be nice to Miss Serpent if you want, but don't forget the story of the old lady who took in the injured snake—and died from a bite."

"I think Fin's right," Lily spoke up. "The war's over. If we're ever going to get anywhere…oh, look out."

Finola ducked as a large screech owl swept through the Hall. "That's weird. It's too late for the mail. Oh, no." She groaned at the emerald and silver envelope the owl dropped at her plate. "I was hoping he'd forget." She ripped it open.

 _ **Miss Frost,**_

 _ **A brief reminder that you have extra Potions tonight beginning at seven sharp. Do not be late.**_

 _ **-SS**_

 _ **Professor Severus Snape**_

 _ **Slytherin House**_

 _ **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**_

"Prime example of classic snake behavior," Brenna groused. "How many sessions does that make this week, Fin?"

Finola put her chin in her hand. "Three."

"But it's only Wednesday. That means every day so far," Lily protested.

"And four times last week," Finola agreed. "He must think I'm hopeless."

"Well, you aren't," Lily said. "And you need a life. When does Snape think you're ever going to have time for anything fun?"

"I'll have fun when I can net a respectable Potions grade."

"What?" Finola asked when her friends gave her openmouthed looks. "Guys, it's okay. I'm used to this stuff. If I can't do something, it's because I don't have enough practice, or I'm not working hard enough. And I have to learn this. Besides, Snape is—well, he's no picnic, but he's been a lot nicer since, well, the wand thing."

"Well, he better watch his back," Brenna threatened. "Or else I'll give him a whole other 'wand thing' to worry about—my wand up his serpent butt."

"Brenna," Finola pleaded. "Keep it down. Snape would give you a month's detention for even saying that, if not push for expulsion. I can take care of myself."

"At least let us walk you to the dungeons," Lily offered. "Safety in numbers."

"Now, that I'll take you up on."

"Good. And meet us right after, promise?" Lily asked. "You'll need hot cocoa to take off the chill—from the location and the teacher."

"Sure. It's better than going back to the common room alone."

"What do you mean?" Brenna queried.

Finola bought herself time with a nibble of her tomato basil panini. _I can't believe I let that slip._ As tempting as it was, telling the girls about what she faced in the Ravenclaw common room every time Professor Swanson turned her back was not an option. Lily would worry herself to death, and Brenna would land herself a year's worth of detention from hexing somebody.

 _Dungeons, Potions Classroom_

Finola double- and triple-checked her measurements, but even with enlarged equipment, it was nearly impossible to tell if she was exactly right. She didn't dare make eye contact with Snape, for fear the accomplished Legillimens would guess her thoughts. But she took out a scale in her own mind. _What's worse—Snape's cold, dour disappointment or those bullying girls?_ The girls won. She poured without thinking.

"Well, well. Wonders never cease, Miss Frost. You were correct."

"What? That—that's impossible."

"And yet, here we are." Snape sat down on the opposite side of the table. "You did what I've been hoping you would. You stopped thinking and fretting, and simply followed directions."

Finola nudged her glasses onto her nose. "I don't follow."

"Then let me elucidate. You have been so anxiety-ridden in this class, in our tutoring sessions, that your visual issues are only part of the problem. You have yourself convinced you can't make a correct potion, so as hard as you try, you do not do it." His eyes softened. "It's partially my fault. I should have seen it from the beginning."

Finola shrugged. "I'm the one who's the dreadful student."

"Don't talk about yourself that way, and spare me that unconfident shoulder movement. I despise it," Snape barked, before backing off again. "Keep going, and stop thinking." He clapped Finola's textbook shut and used his wand to move it to the other side of the room.

"Wait, I need…"

"No, you don't. You have this recipe memorized to the point it's burned on your brain. Stop thinking and trust that your mind knows what to do, even if your body needs time to catch up."

Despite Snape's encouragement, Finola kept her movements slow, measured. As the minutes ticked away, the dungeon's cold temperatures plummeted to freezing. When Finola could delay no longer, she added the final ingredient, adjusted her cauldron's heat—and gave in to a mighty sneeze.

"For Merlin's sake." Snape retrieved the cauldron. "Get out of here before you freeze to death. And take five points for Ravenclaw—for your first potion that was more than adequate."

"Th-thank you…A-CHOO!"

"You're welcome. Now, I believe two little eavesdroppers are awaiting you." Snape raised his voice to full Ticked off Teacher mode.

Sure enough, Brenna and Lily waited outside, carrying cocoa in ceramic house mugs, including a Ravenclaw one for their friend.

"You sure look like you need it," Brenna observed on their way out of the dungeons. "We heard Snape going on at you, acting like you committed a crime by shrugging, and he practically mocked your faith, too." She blew out her lips. "It's a good thing he didn't do that to me, or I'd sic Father O'Shea from home on him." She pulled a crucifix from her collar.

"I'm okay, really…ha-CHOO…"

"Yeah, if 'okay' means 'worked to the bone,'" Lily contradicted, voice softer but just as serious. "Let's get you home."

 _Ravenclaw Tower_

"Look who it is, girls. Snape's greasy little dungeon pet." Madison Primminger wasted no time.

"Learn how to brew cure for boils yet, Failure?" This came from Madison's older sister, a fifth year Ravenclaw named Lucretia. "That's what we should call you. Failure Frost, after a failing Mudblood grade. You're a disgrace to this whole House."

"She must've asked the Hat for Ravenclaw, so she could pretend to be smart," Thalia Harrington added. "She's a filthy liar, just like Snape said."

"Shut up, Thalia," Finola managed around the beginnings of a searing headache.

"Or what? You'll pull your wand on me? Swanson, Dumbledore, everybody may give you your spot here because of pity, but I won't. I'm the Gifted witch, and you better learn quick, you don't mess with me."

"You don't know that. We have an equal chance," Finola tried to reason.

"Ha. You're not equal to anyone." Lucretia shoved Finola backward. She fell, clipping the edge of her forehead on the marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw. Amid laughter, she got up and fled into her room, only to find the girls had been busy in her absence.

Finola's comforter had been thrown halfway off the bed, her pillows across the room, slashed open, feathers exposed. Every book in her bookcase lay on the floor, some with pages missing. Her clothes, out of the closet, were ripped and filthy; her changes of robes looked like they'd been dragged through mud. Slurs like **MUDBLOOD** and **RETARD** littered the walls, dripping, mocking. Nutmeg yowled from where she'd been shoved into a box in the closet.

"Oh, girl. Baby. Come here…I know." Finola cuddled the cat close, drawing strength from her pet's warmth and purring, her unconditional love. She bit her tongue, keeping tears back with sheer force of will.

"What did I ever do to anyone, anyway?" she asked no one between a couple more sneezes. "Father God…" She let the prayer hang.

"Well, only one thing to do, I guess." Finola reached for her Charms textbook. She'd been getting E's and O's in that class, and hoped they would serve her now. She aimed her wand at the walls. "Scourgify!" The books. "Reparo!"

Several wand thrusts, jabs, and livid incantations later, Finola's room was restored to its proper appearance, her possessions repaired. She kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed in her clothes. Even with the covers over her head, Ravenclaw Tower, and her heart, were colder and lonelier than any dungeon.

 _Next Morning, Great Hall_

"It's dead. I think you can eat it," Brenna joked as Finola shredded her toast. "What's up?"

"Nerves. It's our first practical lesson today in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and…" Finola coughed. "I don't want to bomb it."

"You're not bombing anything and you know it, girl. Even Snape's impressed with your work. I keep catching him making that face." She imitated Snape's reluctant little half-smile, which coaxed a laugh from her friend.

"I guess," Finola agreed. "It's just, magic is so much more hands-on than I thought it would be. Sometimes I feel so stupid. Like I don't belong here."

"If anybody belongs here, you do." That came from Lily Corrigan, sitting across from Finola and Brenna. "You wouldn't have magic if you didn't." She pointed upward. "Think of it like God. Why would He give you these abilities if you weren't supposed to use them?"

"Who knows? Most of the people I know have never heard of a witch like me. Mom and Dad and I agreed to tell our church I'm at a boarding school in England for gifted kids."

"True," Brenna said. "Anyway, would you relax? You'll be fine, and if something does go wrong, you know Professor Lupin will be, what is it Americans say? He'll be totally chill."

 _DADA Classroom_

Remus Lupin might have been "chill," but his lesson proved to be anything but.

"We're going to begin our practical training with Boggarts," he announced. "As you might know, I usually teach this lesson in conjunction with Riddikulus. However, the recent war has changed that, as it has many things."

"In recent years, the other teachers and I have found students' Boggarts are far less innocuous than they used to be. Clowns and spiders in tap shoes don't banish fear as powerfully as they once did. The Dark Arts are never funny."

Finola's class nodded and muttered in agreement. A few students looked on the verge of tears or panic. Finola wondered if these classmates had lost loved ones, or seen things she couldn't imagine. She folded her hands under her robes. _Father, please. If they have, I want to help. Help me help them._

"With that said," Lupin began, "I'm going to teach you Riddikulus, but also a couple more advanced defensive spells. Wands at the ready!"

Finola kept her wand down, out of most students' eyesight. Many classmates, mostly snooty Ravenclaws, still laughed at her stiff wand work and speculated why she was even in their house. The last thing she needed was those jerks breaking her concentration. She lost herself in the incantations of Protego Maxima, Fianto Duri, and others, even sneaking a look at a few advanced spells in the back of the book, until Lupin called the class back to order.

"All right then." He dragged a huge black trunk outfitted with several locks to the center of the room. The incessant banging from inside alerted everyone to the reality of what was inside.

"Who's going to give this Boggart a go? Hmmm." He smiled, his eyes landing exactly where Finola hoped they wouldn't. "Miss Frost, how about you? Come on up…I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you were ready."

"Oh, this should be interesting," a Ravenclaw boy muttered in the back.

 _You think so, huh?_ Finola squared her shoulders. For once, she was going to prove she was as good as, better than, the rest of these know-it-alls.

"That's the ticket," Lupin complimented. "Over here…now, stand a bit straighter. Boggarts respond to confidence. Now, I want you to think your boggart. Don't say it, just think it. I'm going to open the trunk and I want you to use one of the spells we've worked on. You may fall back on Riddikulus, but consider it a last resort. Your goal is to get the Boggart to disappear. Ready?"

Finola inhaled. "Ready, sir."

The rest of the class crowded closer, eager to see the Boggart. Lupin snapped the trunk lid open.

Finola herself wasn't sure what to expect, but what came out sent terror zipping through her body at warp speed. Herself, dirty and disheveled, facing some dank, awful room, unable to move or speak. Bony, disembodied hands tried to grab her.

"Immobulous! FIANTO DURI!"

Sparks shot from Finola's wand, surrounding the Boggart. In five seconds flat, the thing collapsed in on itself and exploded.

"Wicked!"

"Way cool!"

"That was better than the Sci-Fi Channel!"

"Wait until my father hears about this!"

"Sod off, Lupin probably helped her cheat."

"You sod off, you're just jealous."

Finola leaned against the nearest desk, hand against her pounding chest. As Dad would put it, she was exhausted as if she'd just gone ten rounds with Gene Tunney. Gasping for breath, she looked up at Lupin, whose jaw was practically on the floor.

"Good show, Miss Frost," he said, shock in his voice. "Ah, suppose you take the remainder of the period and rest?" He reached into his pocket and handed her a miniature chocolate bar. "It helps, it really does. All right, who's up next?"

Finola watched and cheered on her classmates the rest of the period, but none of them had quite the experience she did. Several fell back on Riddikulus, resulting in some hilarious Boggarts, including one of a pink-clad, smarmy woman in her underwear. For those who didn't use Riddikulus, they got the defensive spells right or almost right. But no sparks came from their wands, no Boggarts exploded, and it took at least twenty seconds for any Boggarts to disappear.

"Miss Frost," Lupin asked, "would you mind staying after class?"

"How are you feeling?" Lupin asked when the other students had gone.

"Okay, I think, but I really should get to Potions. If I'm late, Professor Snape might turn me into a lacewing fly."

Lupin chuckled. "I'll write you a note. I'm sure when Professor Snape hears what happened, if he hasn't already, he'll more than forgive you."

"Yeah, about that. Professor, what did happen? My Boggart didn't act like the other ones did."

"That's an understatement. I haven't seen a Boggart banished that fast since the war." Lupin fiddled with a cardigan sleeve. "You've got some raw talent there."

Wait," Finola said. "Are you saying I'm...good at this? DADA, I mean."

"Yes. There's something inside you that…" He trailed off. "You hate darkness, don't you, Miss Frost? Even in a controlled environment."

"Yes, sir. Boggarts aren't so bad I guess, but….well, my parents always taught me there's real darkness out there. Dangerous stuff, and it hurts people. I guess when you opened that trunk, everything in me just sort of...I went someplace else. I knew I had to fight and I did it."

"Yes, I think I understand. You did excellent work today. But what you have, it's uncontrolled power. I saw determination in you, but not confidence. You got by on memory, talent, and, if you'll excuse me saying so, sheer luck. You'll need more than that if you intend to fulfill the purpose we at Hogwarts think you can."

"Yes...Professor, everyone keeps talking about that. What do they mean? I'm not special. Not the right kind of special, anyway," she added, thinking of people who said "special" when what they meant was "handicapped" or "defective."

Lupin shook his head. "It would be too much to tell you now. I wager you'd be on the first train home. What I can tell you is, you have as much chance if not more to be the fourth Gifted witch as Thalia Harrington does. It remains to be seen, but I think the odds are definitely in your favor. Take thirty points for Ravenclaw."

 _Grounds, After Lunch_

"He's right, you know," Lily opined as the girls strolled the grounds. "And thirty points for Ravenclaw? Wow!"

"It doesn't mean much." Finola huddled deeper into her cloak. Though the September chill would've been negligible to anyone else, it threatened to cut through her bones. She picked up her pace as they neared the lakeshore. "Thalia Harrington banished her Boggart almost as fast as I did."

"Almost," Brenna pointed out. "What was her Boggart, anyway?"

"I…oh, no. Speak of the devil." Finola gestured to where Thalia, Lucretia, and several other Ravens marched toward her, faces flinty.

"We'll back you up," Lily promised. "Just stand up to them."

"Thirty points for Ravenclaw," Thalia mocked when the two groups were toe to toe. "Over nothing! Who do you think you are, trying to beat me?"

Finola sighed. Whatever game her arch rival was playing, it was getting so old, so fast. "I wasn't trying to…" _Cough, cough._ "I don't care which of us is the Gifted witch, Thalia. I just want to do well and make friends and…ACHOO!"

"Aw, the little Mudblood just wants some friends," Lucretia said in a high voice with what Finola presumed was an imitation of a speech impediment. "Too bad you're a failure at making any, like anything else."

"I wouldn't say that," Brenna spoke up. "And if I were you, I'd shut my hole before it gets filled with slugs."

"Oh, look who's talking. Little half-blood from the bogs," Madison Primminger goaded. "What, you're the freak's bodyguard now?"

"No, but if you lay a finger on her, we'll all make you pay," Lily put in.

Thalia looked at Lily the way people look at the bottom of the gerbil cage. "You oughta be ashamed, Corrigan. A member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight like you, hanging out with this scum." She twisted Finola's arm. "Freak here will be the one who pays if she keeps hurting my chances. Or maybe someone else can pay for her." She raised her wand. "Accio pillowcase!"

As Finola and her friend watched in horror, a pillowcase seemed to float from a room in Ravenclaw Tower to the castle. Thalia seized it, but not before Finola heard a familiar meow from inside.

"Thalia Harrington, you…" Finola dove for the pillowcase, but Thalia held it out of her reach. Seemingly in slow motion, she dropped the cinched tight, cotton prison into the Black Lake.

"No!" Finola screamed. And without thinking, she dove in after it.

 _Hospital Wing_

"I swear, I'm gonna kill that Harrington," Brenna Kettleburn muttered from her chair in the waiting area. "I don't care if I get expelled, I'll have her head!"

"Let's just concentrate on making sure Finola's okay," Lily Corrigan advised. "She'd want us to pray for her."

"Yeah, guess we should start there." Brenna crossed herself. "Dear Jesus, dear Blessed Mother…"

"How is she? Any word?"

Brenna's head jerked up at the voice of Anya Glazkov. "What are you doing here, you nasty little serpent?"

"Of all people," Lily agreed. "You call Finola a Mudblood, same as those girls."

"I guess I ought to add you to the hit list," Brenna threatened.

"Honestly, would you two listen?" Anya commanded. "Your friend will want to know what happened to her pet." Anya unbuttoned her cardigan, where an unscathed Nutmeg sat purring.

"How did you…" Lily began.

"I saw what happened," Anya explained. "I could tell Finola couldn't swim a stroke, so I went in." She smirked. "Then I hexed Thalia and the others with a Bat Bogey Hex, charmed my clothes dry, and rushed here." She hung her head. "I never should have used that dreadful word, and there's no excuse. But now I…"

"Madame Pomfrey!" Brenna interrupted, jumping up as the Healer walked in. "Finola…is she…"

Pomfrey put a finger to her lips. "Calm down, Miss Kettleburn." She took in the three girls, face unreadable.

"Your friend's going to pull through. She was half-drowned when you got her here, but on top of that, she was already showing signs of a wicked cold. Currently, she's burning up with fever. If you'd shown up a few minutes later…" Pomfrey shook her head. "As it is, her body isn't responding well to my potions." She nodded toward Anya. "Miss Glazkov, go get Professor Snape. Tell him to bring the strongest stuff in his arsenal."

"I'm coming with you," Brenna announced. "I have a few things to say to that greasy git."

"For once, I agree." Lily led the way as the girls hustled out.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

 _Dungeons, Afternoon_

Severus Snape put the final touches on his advanced petrification antidote and allowed himself a smile. His NEWT-level seventh years would find this quite a challenge. Working with them was always his favorite part of the week. It made days of slaving over the basics with students who would rather be in any class but his, worth it.

The door banged open, slamming against the wall. "How dare you come barging in here!" he yelled without turning around. "This is a delicate potion!"

"Your _head_ is gonna be delicate if you don't get us what we need, you two-faced creep," an indignant female voice fired back.

Snape turned, letting his trademark black cloak swirl like a foreboding smoke cloud. _Ah, Brenna Kettleburn._ First-year Gryffindor, an Irish lass with the exceedingly rare combination of dark eyes and flame red hair, and a reckless temper that would do Harry Potter proud. Barely three weeks into term, and Snape and McGonagall were already in a points battle with this girl at the center. Any points Snape took for poorly made potions, sullen attitude, and cheek, Minerva relished giving back in Transfiguration. He barely kept the smile off his face at the reminder of Potter, the early days, before the world went to Hades.

"Ladies." He kept his tone cool while taking in the distressed faces of the two others—Hufflepuff Herbology whiz Lily Corrigan and Anya Glazkov, a Potions prodigy and one of his own serpents. "Would one of you tell me, with respect, why you are here?"

Lily stepped forward. "It's Finola Frost, Professor." Though her voice trembled, her posture stayed steady, determined. "We were on the grounds just now. Madison Primminger, Thalia Harrington, and some other horrid Ravenclaw girls tried to corner Finola. They gave her a hard time about performing brilliantly in Lupin's class, and they…they…"

"Tried to drown her cat." Anya apparently had no compunction about getting to the point. "But Finola went in after her. Only, she can't swim. She nearly drowned, and I saved the cat, but…"

"But now Madame Pomfrey says she's got pneumonia or something and it's not responding to her stuff, so she needs yours," Brenna finished. She gave Snape a death stare. "None of which would've happened if you didn't work her like a slave, you nasty git!"

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for unbridled cheek," Snape announced to drown the conviction needling him. "And I'll see you tonight in detention. You other two, come with me to the potions storage room, now."

 _Hospital Wing_

 _Step, thud. Step again._ Focusing on the rhythm of his good leg with his cane was the only thing that kept Severus Snape walking all the way into the hospital wing. Finola Frost, potential Gifted witch, potential heroine of the Wizarding World, looked anything but.

Her spectacles were gone, treating Severus to the full sight of eyes with such deep smudges underneath them, she could have been a raccoon. Her hair, still wet, was a reedy, tangled mess. Poppy had gotten her into a dry nightdress—one that swallowed a frame Severus hadn't realized was underweight. Her cheeks were flushed scarlet, lips cracked, sweat beading on her forehead.

"Ladies, to the waiting room," he commanded, voice low.

"But…" Lily protested.

"Now, Miss Corrigan!"

The girls scattered, and Severus turned on the school Healer. "Poppy, what in the name of Merlin!"

Poppy shook her head. "I just performed a diagnostic. It's pneumonia, but there are other things." It was her turn to glare. "Severus, the girl is exhausted, running on pure adrenaline. Right now her body can't so much as fight a cold. Students talk. What precisely have you put her through during tutoring sessions?"

"Potions lessons from hell, that's what." Monica Swanson's voice cut through the air. "Severus Snape, I knew you were a hard case, but this…" She gestured to Finola. "This is borderline abuse. I oughta turn you into a snakeskin pocketbook."

"Yes, I imagine you'd relish that. But what would you turn yourself into?" Severus asked in the silky voice he often used with students who were in the wrong and trying to cover it. "Rumor has it that several abusive harpies from your house tried to drown Frost's familiar, among other things. That blame, Swanson, lies at your door."

Swanson had the grace to blush. "Oh, Merlin. I feel awful, I—I didn't know. I can't do anything unless she reports it."

"Which she never would," Severus admitted. Whether from fear or some twisted interpretation of turning the other cheek, he didn't know or care. He turned on Swanson again. "The point is, she could've gotten herself killed."

"No, the point," Swanson challenged, "is we've all failed her, including you. Slave-driver."

"Not…" _Hack, hack._ "Not Professor Snape's fault. I…a-choo…"

"Don't talk, Frost," Snape commanded.

"No, p-please. I only stayed…couldn't go back…common room…" She leaned forward and coughed forcefully for several moments. "No one's fault…mine."

Swanson swept in then like a mother bird shielding a chick. "No, baby girl. No. This was nobody's fault except your classmates', and that will be dealt with. For now, you gotta rest."

Frost's eyes went wide, fearful. "Nutmeg…"

"Is fine," Severus cut in. "She's with your friends. Now…" He withdrew a vial from his pocket. "Open up."

Frost obeyed, and Severus carefully dripped a dose of the first of many healing potions into her mouth. She grimaced at the taste, but took it like a woman, flinching as she swallowed. "Ouch." She rubbed her throat.

"I'll stay with her," Swanson volunteered.

Severus glared. "No, _I_ will. Send Dumbledore word that my afternoon classes are postponed. I believe you have harpies to deal with."

Swanson rose, but gave him a suspicious look. Severus almost chuckled. "She's safe with me, believe it or not."

"I'll be back later," she promised.

"At last," Severus muttered. He turned back to Frost, whose teeth were chattering despite clear signs of fever.

"So…cold…"

"I don't wonder." Severus took out his second vial. "This should help."

Frost inhaled as if bracing herself and took the second potion. Once that was done, Severus went to work setting up monitoring charms for her temperature, respirations, and pulse, plus a warming charm for the room. When Frost groaned and put a hand to her forehead, Severus summoned a basin of cool water and a compress.

"There you go." He dropped his voice, placing the compress as gently as his mother used to when he got sick. "It's infused with lavender. Should help you sleep."

"Mmmm." The weak response revealed she was already drifting off. Severus gave her a moment or two, then rose to leave.

"Pro-fessor?"

"Yes?" He turned, ready to call for Poppy or otherwise fetch anything she needed.

Frost rewarded him with a blink and a slight smile. "Thank you."

 _Ravenclaw House_

Swanson answered the door, took one look at Severus, and ushered him into her office. After performing locking and silencing spells, she turned to him. "Okay. The Prefects can hold down the fort for a while. Let's talk. How is she?"

"She'll live," Severus answered, "but she's far from out of danger, physical or emotional. Once again, how in the name of Merlin could you let bullying go this far?"

Swanson stared him down. "Again, I didn't know. Hogwarts bylaws state professors' hands are tied unless students report confrontations to a Prefect or teacher. Finola won't do either, so I don't know what's been going on or for how long."

Severus swore under his breath. "I dared not perform full Legillimency, but I was able to access her least shielded memories. You want to know what's been going on, since the start of term?" A sardonic smile twisted his mouth, and he raised his wand. _"Imago photographica,"_ he commanded, a spell that allowed a wizard or witch to see photographic evidence. The picture of Finola's vandalized room rose before them.

"Dear sweet Lord," Swanson intoned. "Why didn't she…how…"

Severus waved his wand again. The photograph changed to show his student using charms to clean up the evidence, and collapsing on her bed afterward.

"Whoa," Swanson breathed. "I knew she was acing my class, but that's incredible."

"Keep your mind on the issue at hand," Severus snapped. He flicked his wand several times, showing Monica several verbal confrontations, during which Frost barely said a word in her own defense. One such confrontation ended with Frost getting a superficial head wound from a marble statue. Severus forced himself to watch other memories, ones of their tutoring sessions where she struggled over potions. In each of those, he clearly heard her inner voice.

 _I'm not a Muggle or a witch. God made a mistake. I'm not Gifted. I'm worthless._

Swanson's eyes glimmered with tears. "Poor kid. I suspected, but…"

Severus gripped the arms of his chair to stave off an explosion. "You _suspected!_ Then why didn't you say anything?" He swore again. "It's nice to know that after two wars and decades of 'harmless pranks,' Hogwarts hasn't changed. The lot of you are still content to blame abuse and cruelty on the victim."

"Now, you hold on there, Severus Snape," Swanson cut in. "If you think I blame that little girl, you're as twisted as they say you are." She raised her own wand. "Accio Finola's file."

The file cabinet slid open, and a folder floated into Swanson's hand. "It's more complicated than that. This kid's got a history, and not just of bullying." She pointed. "Muggle or not, it's common knowledge who this girl is. Her mom's in the running for a state level Board of Education seat; she might go national in a couple years. Her dad's a respected historian and former attorney with ties to the Muggle justice system."

"And?" Severus challenged.

Swanson jabbed her finger at a paragraph. "Apparently, Mr. Frost sued the pants off the doctor who made Finola's CP diagnosis, because he claimed she should have been aborted. They won, but ever since then, the Frosts have been super-protective of their daughter. If Finola didn't report the bullying, it's not because she fears retaliation. It's because she's afraid of being sent home."

Swanson sighed. "Look, Sev..."

" _No one_ calls me that." His tone could've frozen an entire fireplace. No one but Lily, and here he was, failing her again.

Swanson nodded. "That was out of line. I'm sorry. But here's the thing. Here, Finola's got real friends. She's learning magic— _magic,_ something that helps her rise above disability and what other people expect from her. She has a chance, and I guess to her, that's worth coping with bullies on her own. But we know now she can't." The other professor clapped the file shut. "Please, Severus. Help me decide what to do."

Severus rose, paced the room a bit, until an idea occurred to him. "There is something, but I'd need you to act _in loco parentis."_

"Shoot."

"I want a re-Sorting. I want Frost placed in my house."

Swanson's eyes narrowed. "You have got to be kidding me. One, Finola Frost is not a Slytherin. She's got the smarts, but your snakes have a rep for stepping on people to get what they want, and she won't do that. Plus, the serpent has some seriously ugly connotations in her faith. And well, with the way you've driven her over Potions, I don't trust you to act as a good teacher to her, let alone a den dad."

"All of which I am aware of," Severus responded. "But again, you are out of line and mistaken. I admit, the number of tutoring sessions I assigned was overzealous, simply because I knew Frost could do well and wished to make it happen. But I didn't tell the girl to work herself into the ground. She did that on her own—ostensibly to avoid your common room."

"Okay, point taken. But why your house? I'm sure McGonagall or Longbottom could…"

"Because the Gryffindors are a rowdy bunch of ne'er-do-wells who would frighten her to death. And Longbottom is too much like you, too ready to give first, third, and twentieth chances to cruel little brats."

"Hey, back this bus up. If I had my way, that whole gang would be out of here faster than you could say Expelliarmus, mister. Besides, it's Finola's academic career we're deciding. Shouldn't she have a say, before we go jerking her from house to house, pillar to post?"

"Monica, are you insane? To leave a decision like that in the hands of a prepubescent…"

"Oh, like we do better leaving it to a hat that's probably infested with lice from the darn thirteenth century? What would she get in Slytherin that she can't get here, huh? Extra Potions homework? A 7:30 curfew? Life skill therapy sessions out the wazoo? Bullies who are even smarter and sneakier than mine?"

"Do calm yourself. You sound like a hysterical idiot. I don't treat my serpents like soldiers. As to your question, Frost would receive reasonable, but consistent nutritional monitoring. Surely you can see she's underfed. She'd receive protection. She already has a companion in Glazkov, if the two are allowed to grow close without house prejudice. In Slytherin, Frost could expand her friend circle, without fear. You must notice her slipping out of the dorm before breakfast, eager to avoid the onslaught."

"Holly Vecchio did mention that," Swanson admitted.

"Which means the girl isn't getting enough sleep," Severus pointed out. "Under my protection, she would see the Slytherin dormitory as a haven, not a prison. She would also receive intensive counseling, of which you would be a part, as a female teacher. If you and I determined she needed further life skills instruction, it would be on a reasonable basis, with plenty of time left over for both studies and leisure."

Swanson blinked, picked at her cuticles. "So what you're saying is, you want us to work together."

"Yes. You are normally the last person I'd choose to work with one on one, and I've worked with Longbottom." Severus unleashed a sardonic laugh. "But as a Muggle-born, Frost has limited access to her family. She's in a new school, a new country, and a highly unique situation. She needs mentorship, but also the guidance of a de facto parent. I can provide the former, but…"

Swanson nodded. "A girl needs a mom." She stuck out her hand. "You've got a deal. Truce?"

"Truce."

"But I don't want the re-Sorting," Swanson cautioned as they shook hands. "I think Finola's a Raven, and once I clean house, she'll thrive here."

Severus raised his eyebrows. "I suppose we can agree to disagree. I suggest a compromise. When Frost is released from medical treatment, she moves into Slytherin for a period of—two weeks. At the end of that time, if you have sufficiently 'cleaned house,' she'll be given the choice to return or submit to re-Sorting, as a formality."

"Deal. If you can convince her she's not headed to boot camp, that is." Swanson released a saucy giggle.

"The only person I've met in this House who needs boot camp is you," Severus answered—but his lips tipped up without his permission.

 _Hospital Wing, A Few Days Later_

After classes, Severus bumped into Monica Swanson halfway across campus. She carried a package and what looked like a thermos of soup.

"You too, eh?" Severus shook his vial of medicine. "I'm due there in ten minutes."

"So am I." Swanson held up the package. "Homework, but I slipped in a little something fun. And…" She shook the thermos. "I asked Brenna and Lily. They say Finola likes chicken gnocchi soup."

"Good choice. She needs the protein and the carbs," Severus said of the Italian version of chicken and dumpling soup. What 'something fun' do you mean?"

Swanson beamed. "The girl's a voracious reader, of Muggle and wizarding material. Madame Pince got her hands on an advance copy of the start of a new series. Something about ladies-in-waiting to the Tudor Queen Mary during the Protestant Reformation."

"Sounds right up Frost's alley," Severus agreed. "But…" He thought back. "As I recall, that series is geared toward older high school girls?"

"Oh come on, Severus. Finola's file reveals she's been tackling Austen and Dickens since she was eight." She paused outside the hospital wing, pointing to herself, then Severus. "Good cop, bad cop?"

"What?"

"I mean, she'll want to dive into homework and exhaust herself again, or read half that book in an hour. You make her toe the medical line. Meds, rest, drink her soup, and don't worry herself to death, or else." She imitated Severus' death stare.

Severus nodded. "That, I can do."

Swanson led the way in. "Hey there, Poppy." She lowered her voice in deference to patients. "How's our girl today?"

 _Our girl?_ The phrase gave Severus pause. Though he referred to Slytherins as "his" serpents, he'd never allowed himself to truly care for any student before, as a mentor or parent would. The idea cracked something in his heart.

"Spare us the sentimentality," he growled.

Poppy gave him a probing stare. "She's on the mend, slowly. Fever's down, chills are abating, throat mending. But that cough…" She shook her head. "And I'm picking up symptoms of depression."

"We'll see if we can help," Swanson promised. "Are student visitors okay? Maybe seeing Brenna and Lily would cheer her up."

Poppy beamed. "Yes. In fact, there's someone with her right now."

Severus entered Frost's room first, and was treated to an unusual sight. Anya Glazkov sat cross-legged on Finola's bed. The two of them were hunched over a board.

"Heh-hem!" Severus announced. "And just what are you up to?"

Frost instantly straightened, as if Severus were a sergeant major, and pulled the covers to her neck.

Severus chuckled. "I can't see anything through that nightdress, Frost. Even if I could, you haven't got anything I haven't seen. I used to be a junior medic."

She blushed. "Anya and I were…I asked her to check my potions essay." She offered him a neat stack of parchment. "We just finished, so she wanted to um, teach me wizards' chess." A questioning lilt colored her words, as if she feared Severus would castigate her for even thinking of anything other than Potions. He shook his head. _What kind of Gorgon have you become, Severus Snape?_ He shook off the question and took the chair next to the bed, turning it so he could see Frost's side of the board.

"I'm more than a fair hand at chess myself. Ah…you don't want to do that. See, you'll end up with a dead knight."

"I was afraid of that," Frost revealed while Glazkov's men grumbled at the interference. "It's harder than ever to see with these." She gestured to a pair of old spectacles. "Mine got broken the other day. This was the closest Madame Pomfrey had to my prescription. I guess I'll have to write Mom and Dad." She sighed. "Hogwarts was pretty good while it lasted."

"Hey, who said you're going anywhere?" Swanson asked.

"They'll freak out when they hear what happened. They'll insist I come home."

"You let me take care of that," Swanson insisted. "Professor Snape and I have plans to deal with those girls." She held Frost's hand, cupping it tenderly, like a mother. "I understand why you didn't speak up, but from now on, you can. No one here is gonna hurt you again. Ever. You have our word."

"And mine as well," Glazkov agreed. "Finola, I'm sorry again, about calling you—that name. My parents don't use it, but I still hear it often. It's a difficult habit to shake. Someday, I'll explain. But I'm on your side, if you'll have me."

"Of course I will," Frost said, sincerity coloring the words. "After all, I'd have drowned without you. I owe you big time."

"No, we're even," Glazkov said. "It's the only way I can beat you and feel good about it."

"Not so fast," Swanson chuckled. "The game's going into halftime on account of lunch." She held up the thermos. "Finola, how about I get you a tray? Professor Snape, help her sit up a little more, will you?"

"Of course." Severus went to work. "Miss Glazkov, you should get back to the castle now."

"All right." She reluctantly stood. "Later tonight?"

"If Madame Pomfrey says okay. Oh—thanks, Professor." Frost accepted the tray Swanson offered, bowed her head, and murmured a grace Severus didn't quite catch—except his and Swanson's names came up.

"Amen," Swanson intoned when her student's head came up. "Careful, it's still a little hot. I'll be right back, okay? There's a fourth year Raven on the next floor with a broken ankle I need to check on."

Severus busied himself with checking Frost's monitors while she tucked into the soup. She ate rather like a bird but, he was relieved to see, gave her meal the old college try. A few bites in though, she set her spoon aside, stared out her window, and sighed. Her eyes were the very definition of hopeless. Against his will, compassion squeezed Severus' heart.

"What is it?" he asked. "You have a few days before you have to face Potions again."

She gave him a half smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Even if those girls leave me alone, even if I got straight O's in your class…" She trailed off. "Professor Snape? Have you ever—I mean, have you ever felt…has anyone ever made you think you shouldn't exist?"

" _It's more that he exists, if you know what I mean."_ The cruel memory slapped Severus in the face. Knowledge of Frost's tormentors mixed with the Marauders—arrogant James Potter, sadistic Sirius Black, that corpulent traitor Pettigrew, and Lupin, who saw everything yet did nothing.

It was Severus' turn to take Frost's hands, harder, in a gentle but firm, no-nonsense grip. "Yes. There are people like that everywhere, even in a world with magic, Frost. They are arrogant, jealous, and insecure. They think they know who you are, but they're blithering idiots."

Frost sighed. "Arrogant, jealous, and insecure, I'll give you, but idiots? Nah. They're not the ones who can't even walk right, or tie shoes, or write without a Dicta-Quill."

"So?" Severus demanded. He decided to use something that would get his student's attention. "Screw walking, screw shoelaces, screw writing. And screw _them_."

As expected, her mouth dropped open. "Professor! Wow, my grandma would make you suck soap if she heard that. She doesn't even let me say 'darn.'"

 _Fundamentalist much. Gram?_ He chuckled. "Well, with apologies to your grandmother, I stand by the statement. Those people, magic or Muggle, can all go to…well, they don't matter. You get to say who you are, no one else." He sobered. "Even a professor who is a master at potions and a dunce at relating to people."

"I think you could get better at it," Frost predicted. She ate another spoonful. "Sometimes you just gotta punch back and say, 'This is who I am.'" She sounded like she was quoting.

"That doesn't sound Biblical," Severus teased.

"It's not. It's from _Once Upon a Time._ It's a show—oh, I forgot. You guys don't have TV. Um…anyway. But it's hard, you know? My friends think I could be the fourth Gifted and—I've had time to think. Let's face it, not much else I can do." Another spoonful down. "I want to be. But who am I to say I can? I was supposed to die, you know. My parents don't know I know, but I've heard the story. I'm not worth that much."

"Yes, you _are_ ," Severus insisted. "Swanson and I—even Lupin—we're going to convince you of that if it kills us. As for being Gifted?" He shook a finger at her. "Who are you to say you can't?" He stood. "Eat, and rest. And punch back."

 _A Day or Two Later_

"Temperature normal," Madame Pomfrey announced. "How's the voice, dear?"

"Talking still hurts a little," Finola admitted. "But only if I raise my voice."

"Hmmm." Madame Pomfrey scanned her wand over Finola's body. "Clear lungs, strong pulse. I'd say stay on medicinal potions for another week or so, but you don't need to be here for that. I'm giving you a clean bill of health."

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey. And thanks for taking care of me."

Madame smiled. "It's my job, dearie. Let me help you out to the waiting area. I think Professors Swanson and Snape are waiting, and someone else needs this bed."

Before Finola could gather her wits to ask why both professors were there, Professor Swanson met her in the hallway with a hug. "Hey, I hear Madame's kicking you out for being too healthy."

"Yeah. I just hope I'm all caught up on classes."

"No worries there. You aced Charms and DADA, and everything else got E's or O's, too. Well, almost everything." Professor Swanson glanced over her shoulder at Snape. "You've still got an A in Potions, but a reliable source tells me, your work ethic could give Minister Granger a run for her money."

"Th-thanks, Professor Snape," Finola managed. "But, um…I thought…that is…"

"What am I doing here," Snape finished. "I don't consider that a rude question if delivered in the right spirit, Frost." He gestured to a waiting room chair. "Professor Swanson and I have talked it over. She and Dumbledore are going to handle the situation with your dorm mates, but for now, neither of us feel you'd be safe in Ravenclaw Tower. Thus, for the next two weeks, you'll be staying in Slytherin."

Finola's heart jumped into second gear. A thousand responses leapt to her tongue, but only a noise made it out. She tried again.

"I couldn't possibly…that's not…" _Be grateful!_ "Thank you, Professor. I was a little afraid to go back. Okay, a lot. But I don't think—you've been kind to me, but Slytherin…I've heard what they're like. What if…"

"What if they bully you, too?" Snape finished. "That's not going to happen. I have a zero tolerance policy. And as a Ravenclaw, I know you are wise enough not to extend prejudice to my serpents the way prejudice has been extended to you."

Shame washed over her. "No, sir. I didn't mean that. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Professor Swanson and I will walk you back so you may gather your things. Your housemates are in class, so now would be a good time for you to get settled in. Ah," Snape cut her off when she started to protest. "I know you're eager to get back to your studies, but I want you to rest up for one more day—and break these in." He handed Finola a glasses case. "Professor Swanson helped me choose these for you. We pulled your prescription from your file. The best London has to offer."

"Oh!" Finola gasped. "Professors, I…" She blinked hard. "This is…I can't pay for these."

"They're covered under your scholarship fund," Professor Swanson assured her. "Go on, try them on. I couldn't decide between green or blue. I'm sure you know which color Professor Snape went with."

Finola slipped on the emerald, cat's-eye glasses. "Oh, they're perfect. Thank you, again." She hugged Professor Swanson and, before she registered what she was doing, Snape. The scent of old shoes and acrid lemon filled her nose, right before regret stabbed her. "Sorry! I, uh…"

"It's all right." Though gruff, Snape's voice remained friendly. He clapped her on the shoulder. "Enough emoting, you two. There's packing to be done."

 _Slytherin House, Girls' Dorm, Through the Eyes of a Kneazle_

"Well, Nutmeg, this is it. Home sweet home for two weeks. Hmmm. Definitely not the austere cell I thought it would be."

Nutmeg settled deeper on top of the emerald velvet comforter, letting out a purr. No, "austere" wasn't the word. With its chandelier, stone fireplace, and emerald and silver tapestries, this room looked more like an old-fashioned castle than their old one. She shivered a bit at the memory of floundering in that awful pillowcase in the lake—and her poor girl trying to get to her. Well, at least they were safe now.

"Careful not to claw the comforter," Finola said. "I'm sure Professor Snape wouldn't like it."

Ah, yes, the Dark Man. Nutmeg could tell her girl was still a bit afraid of him. To a tiny first-year girl, the Dark Man, with his strident voice, cold eyes, and hooked nose must resemble a true villain. The other cats around Hogwarts didn't like him much, but then, he was allergic to their kind. Something told Nutmeg if anyone could find the truth about Finola, the Dark Man was it.

Nutmeg studied her girl with the practiced eyes of a half-Kneazle. She didn't know it yet, not fully, but she had it. The Light. The Gift. Something beyond magic, something that could defeat darkness in a way nothing else did. But with that, she had a dubious gift for seeing darkness, frightening it so it attacked her. Nutmeg would have to keep special watch on her girl, especially if what the other Hogwarts animals said about a new enemy was true. But for now…

Finola checked her watch and pulled a vial from her pocket. "Cheers." She tipped it down her throat and grimaced before popping some chocolate into her mouth. "Thank you, Professor Lupin. And for you…" She offered her hand, on which sat a delectable salmon treat. "Fresh from Hagrid's hut. You won't even taste your meds in it." She sat down and sighed. "We might make it now, girl. We might be okay."

 _Ah yes, my girl. You'll be much more than okay._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

" _All Slytherins, report to the common room immediately. All Slytherins, to the common room."_ Professor Snape's voice reverberated through Slytherin House, sharper and clearer than any P.A. system. Finola shivered in spite of herself.

"It's a Sonorous spell," Anya explained. "Come on, I'll show you where the common room is."

Finola stuck close to her new friend. Her knees shook as if made of water, but she couldn't tell if that was her illness sticking around, or sheer nerves. _The professors promised you safety. This will be different._ The mental coaching didn't help much.

"Here we are." Anya held the heavy stone door open, and Finola almost fled. Now, _this_ was what she pictured when other Hogwarts denizens said "Slytherin." Hardwood floors, probably spit-shined, hosted straight-backed green or black leather sofas and hard wooden chairs. Cobwebs and a few snoozing bats decorated the walls. A leering portrait of a man all in hunter green and black loomed above an unlit fireplace made from jagged stone. A cracked samovar in the corner bubbled with something that smelled strongly of eucalyptus. Stalactites dripped from the ceiling.

Finola winced as a spider—at least, she hoped it was a spider—skittered across her shoe. If this was the common room, what else could she expect? Would her comfortable bed upstairs turn to a prison cot or bed of nails when she slept on it? Was "Toccata and Fugue in D Minor" considered an alarm clock? And…what about the other Slytherins?

As if summoned, the silver- and emerald-clad students began filing in, lines ramrod straight, eyes front, with Professor Snape in the lead. He stopped in the center of the room and turned to face the crowd. Finola expected a drill sergeant command, but got,

"Please sit, everyone. Miss Frost, come over here next to me."

 _Whoa, who is that?_ Not the strict teacher from Potions, not the sadist who'd called her names. He sounded downright normal. Still, Finola kept her eyes on Anya as the latter grabbed a chair.

"We have a guest," Snape began. "Some of you may recognize her as Finola Frost from Ravenclaw. She's staying with us for the next two weeks, while an inhospitable situation in her dormitory is resolved. Some of you may know what that situation entails, but unless Miss Frost volunteers information, you are not to inquire."

"Those of you who have been with Miss Frost in class know she sometimes requires assistance to get things done, things you and I take for granted. At other times however, I and other professors have seen her show brilliance to rival seventh years. As with any student, struggles do not negate gifts. If Miss Frost requests your assistance, you are to give it, or if you can't, direct her to a Prefect or to me. If I hear or see one whisper of harassment based on gifts or disability, the offenders will face draconian consequences. Are we clear?"

The students murmured in agreement. Finola dared look around, encountering expressions of curiosity, neutrality, and yes, even some pity from some older, motherly-looking girls. Well, anything was better than the hostility of Ravens who wanted to peck her to death.

Snape turned to her. "Miss Frost, these are your temporary housemates, and I am your temporary Head of House. I expect you to treat us with the same respect as you would those of Ravenclaw. But more important, I expect you to let us all know what you need when you need it. Trust will take time, but I think you'll find we're worthy of it."

"I…hope so. I think so."

"Good." Snape gestured to a blonde girl wearing a Prefect badge like Holly's. "This is Elinor Smythe, Prefect for the girls. She'll take over with any personal help you needed from Miss Vecchio."

Elinor offered her hand. "Wotcher, Finola. I've heard a lot about you, and I'm looking forward to getting to know you."

Finola responded with her Sunday school smile. "Thanks. I'll try not to bother you too much."

"Ah now, it's no bother to help a housemate. From all I hear about you in Charms and DADA, we'll all be banging down your door soon."

Finola had to laugh. "Gosh, I might have to start keeping an appointment log."

Snape half-smiled. "I see you two are going to get on. Miss Smythe, acquaint our guest with the rules of Slytherin. The rest of you are dismissed. Remember, I expect everyone at dinner by six sharp. For tonight, I'd like everyone, including Miss Frost, to join us at the Slytherin table."

"Professor?" Elinor asked. "Permission to remove the glamour spell?"

"Granted, so long as you also provide the secrecy charm."

"Um, what was that about?" Finola asked when she, Elinor, and Anya were alone.

"Watch." Elinor waved her wand in the shape of a G, then what looked like a serpent. In an instant, the entire room metamorphosed. The stiff chairs and sofas gave way to plush counterparts. The hardwood floors now boasted thick emerald throw rugs at intervals. Huge windows and stained glass replaced the dour décor, and the samovar became a bubbling, chattering fountain. The air, once musty with mothballs, now smelled of pine and peppermint.

"How did you…how do they…" _C'mon Frost, get a grip._ "That's incredible. So…" She considered the words "glamour spell." "Let me see if I get it. The way the room was before, that's an act? If you're not a Slytherin, that's what you see?"

"Right-o," Elinor confirmed. "We've cleaned up our act since the war, but we Serpents have a reputation to protect. Snape doesn't let us remove the spell except in circumstances like yours. But to make sure…" She leaned forward and tapped Finola's forehead twice with her wand.

"Ouch. What…" Finola cut herself off as she absorbed the truth. While her eyes registered the un-glamoured room, the picture in her head remained Spartan and unfriendly. "Secrecy charm?" she asked.

"Right again. Now, if anyone outside the house asks, you can honestly say we have awful accommodations," Elinor laughed. "Now, you need to take a look at this." She ushered Finola to the wall nearest the door, on which was posted a scroll labeled _**Slytherin House Rules and Regulations**_ in Snape's cramped handwriting.

 _ **Rule 1: You are a Slytherin. As such, you have been chosen for an illustrious and well-respected house. Keep the House's honor intact. Use your cunning and ambition for good, take care of your own, and learn from the other Houses' strengths and mistakes.**_

 _ **Rule 2: No one is better than you, and you are no better than anyone else. Build housemates up. Don't tear them down.**_

 _ **Rule 3: Your housemates' magic, familiars, and property are extensions of the person. Treat them with respect.**_

 _ **Rule 4: Afford magic the deference it deserves. Careless or malevolent magic will NOT be tolerated.**_

 _ **General House Behavior:**_

 _ **You are first under authority of Professor Snape, second, Slytherin Prefects, and third, other teachers and Prefects. If you run afoul of another teacher, you will serve their detention as well as Snape's. To disobey a teacher or Prefect is to besmirch House honor.**_

 _ **All students will adhere to pertinent schedules (see your year for details) at all times.**_

 _ **No food or drink in dorms. No sweets after 8:00 PM. If you are taking a nutrition potion, see Prof. Snape or Mme. Pomfrey for appropriate dosages.**_

 _ **Lights out: 9:30 PM (First & second year), 10:00 PM (third & fourth), 10:30 PM (fifth), 11:00 PM (sixth), Midnight (seventh).**_

 _ **First-third year students are expected to keep their rooms in order without the aid of magic or House Elves. House Elves are NOT your personal servants, and magic is not a crutch for laziness.**_

"Finola?" Elinor touched her shoulder. "You look worried all of a sudden. I know you can remember this stuff; your mind's a sponge."

"It's not that," Finola said. "It's stupid, but—it's rule number five. I…I don't…I've had physical and occupational therapy, and I can, you know, straighten up and stuff. I'm actually kind of a neatnik. But I can't make beds or vacuum or that sort of thing." Face burning, she looked away.

Elinor nodded. "We know. Snape told me, you're an exception. Do what you can to the best of your ability and you'll be fine."

"But, if no one else is an exception…"

"No one else has your situation," Elinor cut in. "There's a difference between taking advantage of your weaknesses, and getting a level playing field." The Prefect gave Finola an understanding look. "He may look and act intimidating, but Snape really isn't the monster the other Houses think. He doesn't get mad at people who need help. He gets mad at people who don't try."

Finola shrugged. "Same difference. At least, that's what a lot of people think. Therapists, old teachers." A memory swept through her, making her shiver.

"Oh." Elinor raised her wand. "Accio shawl." When a tartan shawl floated into the vicinity, she cinched it around Finola's shoulders. "Let's go sit by the fire, okay? You can quiz me about Snape, Slytherin, anything you want."

"I wouldn't know what to ask. How about you tell me what you want me to know, and I ask questions as I have them?"

"Good plan." Elinor gestured to the fountain in the corner. "You want something to drink? The waters are charmed to be whatever you like. No soda or cocoa, though." She wrinkled her nose. "Snape's a martinet about nutrition."

"Why doesn't that shock me?" Finola laughed. "I could go for a cup of tea. I liked the way Professor McGonagall made it, back when—well, that day I had to go to Dumbledore's office."

Elinor took down two emerald mugs. "Yes, it's a rather famous story now. You really Longbottomed up that first day."

"I—what?"

Elinor dipped the mugs and came back with steaming, creamy tea. "To Longbottom something. It used to mean you mucked it up royally, but now it means you did something incredibly brave, if maybe a little stupid. You know, like calling Snape evil when he lost his cool. Or jumping into the Black Lake to save your cat, when you can't even swim. Yeah, you bet your last Galleon everybody knows that, too."

Finola groaned. "I didn't mean it, either time. I'm not brave. I begged the Hat not to put me in Gryffindor, because I'm a complete wimp. I'd have taken Slytherin over Gryffindor, no offense."

"None taken. But the Hat doesn't just give you what you want. You were a Hatstall, you know." Elinor leaned in as if sharing a great secret. "All four Houses wanted you. The moment Minister Granger-Weasley got approval for you to come here instead of Ilvermorny, the teachers were talking. They were laying bets." She laughed. "Longbottom lost big when you didn't get Hufflepuff."

Finola almost choked on her tea, setting off a coughing fit. Elinor patted her back until it passed, and she shook her head. "That's impossible. If this were Muggle school, they'd have been fighting over who _had_ to take me." Eager to lighten the mood and avoid pity, she added, "Besides, I don't see Snape or McGonagall gambling."

"Then you don't know our school, or those two. McGonagall taught Snape back in the day—she was like a mum to him, to all the students, really. They're tight, but they ruck and bicker with the best of them. House members, points, the Quidditch cup—neither one can stand losing. When they had to turn over their Galleons to Swanson, they both looked like they'd swallowed earwax-flavored Bertie Bott's beans."

"Hi, Elinor. You haven't told Finola all the best House secrets yet, have you?" Anya was back, carrying her school bag. "Hello there, roomie."

"Really? You don't mind?"

"Well, I did hear you sleepwalk and snore like a hacksaw," Anya teased. "Of course I don't mind."

"I only hope the other girls are as hospitable as you."

"They will be, especially when they find out you're one of the Gifted."

"Don't forget about Thalia Harrington," Finola cautioned. "When will we know for sure which one of us is the real Gifted witch?"

Anya dropped to the sofa. "I'm not sure, but there are rumors of a secret test that only you and Thalia will know of. That is, if Thalia isn't eliminated from competition right away. Those girls who bully you? They all got suspended, and word around school is they could get expelled."

"Good riddance to the lot," Elinor said. She checked her watch. "Oops, nearly six. We'd better book it to dinner, especially if we want first dibs on the House Elves' honey-buttered croissants. Best when they're warm."

 _Next Morning, Slytherin Girls' Dormitory_

"'I think I'll try defying gravity…'" Finola continued the song, sotto voce, as she slipped into her bathrobe and out of the girls' bathing area.

"Hey, Finola. I didn't know you sang," Elinor Smythe complimented. "You're really good."

"Oh—did I wake anyone?" Not counting her time in the infirmary, Finola had already garnered a reputation as the one of the earliest risers among first-years. So far, she'd let people think it was because it came naturally—which it did—but the jibes the Primminger sisters and others had made about needing help with her hair and uniform still stung.

"No. I'd never have heard you if I wasn't passing by just now." Elinor ushered Finola over to her own vanity. "I don't recognize the song, though. It's not from the Wizarding Top Twenty, eh?"

"Uh, no, it's _Wicked._ A Broadway show."

"Muggle theater, right," Elinor said. "One of my friends back in Surrey is a Muggle-born. Broadway's New York, isn't it? You live near there?"

"No, I'm hours away. I have to settle for songs on iTunes."

"You lost me," Elinor admitted. "Leave your hair up or down?"

"Up, please. I have Snape's class this morning, and you know what he says."

Both girls imitated him. "'Ladies, I will not write home and explain to your parents how you managed to singe off your hair and eyebrows!'" Finola winced. "I totally get why he has that rule, but I wish he'd relax sometimes. Wearing my hair up can make headaches worse."

Elinor's face went concerned in the mirror. "You get headaches a lot?"

"Yeah. No big deal. It's kind of an occupational hazard. I had a lot of eye operations as a kid, because I was born almost blind, and I guess…" She trailed off.

Elinor made a noise in her throat and continued brushing, more gently than she had been. "Ever consider cutting your hair? You wouldn't have to do much since it only comes a little past your shoulders. And then you wouldn't need me. Oh, not that I mind," Elinor hastened to say. "It's just, I get the idea you'd rather do stuff yourself when you can."

"You're right," Finola admitted. "But to cut it off short—I don't know. I wouldn't want to get harassed about looking masculine. Snape and Swanson and my friends aren't always there to protect me, nor should I expect it."

"'Nor should I expect it?' Frost, you sound like you're giving a speech to the entire Wizenmagot." Now it was Finola's turn to show confusion, because Elinor backed up. "That's like your Supreme Court in the States. Snape says you do that—talk like a dictionary when something's bothering you. Can I help?"

"Maybe. I…I don't know. I keep telling myself I'm safe, but Brenna and Lily don't know I'm here, and Swanson probably read Ravenclaw the riot act. I'm not sure what to expect today. That's why I was singing. That helps me feel better."

"Good on ya, girl," Elinor said. "You're coping a lot better than I would—and you _are_ safe. I heard Snape and Swanson talking about his plans while you were still sick. I remember she said, 'Finola's like a snowdrop who's not sure it's spring yet. She'll bloom, but take it real slow.' In the meantime…" Elinor held up a green and blue ribbon braided together. "The perfect accessory, to show you've got people in both Houses cheering you on."

Finola waited for Elinor to finish her braid and twisted to see the handiwork. "That's awesome—ah, brilliant. Did I get that right?"

"Yes you did—you might even be picking up a bit of an accent there," Elinor teased. "You're fitting in better than you think."

 _Slytherin Common Room_

Severus Snape found his newest honorary Slytherin in the common room at 6:30, fully dressed and groomed for the day, reading a novel on the sofa. _Has she ever looked that relaxed?_ The answer pricked his conscience. Loath as he was to interrupt the moment with more rules and changes, sooner was better than later.

"Good morning, Miss Frost. Have you found my house the torture chamber you feared?"

She dropped the novel facedown like a hot crumpet. "Oh, no! Not at all. I'm so sorry if I gave that impression, I mean…" She closed her eyes. "I didn't want to make you think I was unthankful."

Severus nearly corrected Frost's incessant apologies again, but stopped short. The remark he'd meant as teasing had come out dead serious. Besides, Frost was probably so used to being scolded and coached on how to behave, she likely thought everything out of her mouth broke some rule. Severus forced himself to breathe evenly and took a seat on the chair opposite her.

"Anyone who believes you impolite or unthankful for anything doesn't know you," he began. "Let me ask that question again. Are you settling in well?"

"Yes, thank you. I think soon, I'll be less of a nervous wreck."

Well, for a nervous wreck, you're handling it admirably," Severus complimented. "Most girls your age, and boys too, would go all to pieces."

Frost gazed at him, hazel eyes filled with wisdom and hard-won courage beyond her years. "If that's true, it's only because I don't want to go to pieces. It makes me look weak, and—handicapped. Like a little mentally disabled baby."

Severus frowned. What he wouldn't give for a full Legillimens session with this kid, to find out exactly what drove her and who or what had caused her such pain. _Easy, Snape, give it time. Start building truth, dismantling lies._ "You, Finola Jane Frost, are far from mentally disabled or a baby. As for you being a nervous wreck, that can't continue. As long as you're in my house, and even after that, we're going to remedy the situation."

"How?"

Severus cracked his knuckles. "We work from the outside in. For instance, I don't mind you being an early riser, but you've been sacrificing sleep to cover your need for personal help, or escape the dormitories. In this house, you will not leave until the actual breakfast bell. I'd also like to see you taking recreational time in the dorms a few times a week, maybe having a much-needed nap."

Frost nodded. "I can do that. But how will that fit in with our Potions sessions, or my lessons with Lupin?"

Severus nodded. "Fair question. I should never have overloaded you with so many sessions. We're going to cut it down to once or twice a week, depending on the potions scheduled in class."

"Will my grades improve if you do that, though?"

"I am sure of that. But even if not, "Acceptable" means acceptable—as in, something you must learn to accept. Otherwise, you'll end up sick again."

"Okay."

Severus made a noncommittal noise. While Frost's mouth said "okay," her eyes said, _Not on your life, Snape._ Channeling Swanson, he let that one go. There were bigger fish to fry, and speaking of… "Moving on. The other staff and I have noticed, you don't eat much in the Great Hall. Fruit and dry toast. Small slices of meat, if you even touch it." He had to chuckle. "One evening before you fell ill, Swanson and I noticed you eating peas. You wore a worse grimace than if you'd taken an entire cauldron's worth of my potions."

He was rewarded with a wry smile. "Yeah, well, they're a vegetable."

 _Is this girl truly eleven?_ Severus shook his head. She behaved as though she were his age—well, his age now that he'd stopped aging. As for her food choices, Severus didn't believe in coddling children's preferences. He had students in Slytherin who'd been terribly spoiled, allowed to subsist on things like peanut butter sandwiches and those awful bits of processed gristle called chicken nuggets, whatever a "nugget" was. But nor did he believe in forcing students to eat what they didn't like when they'd clearly given it the old college try.

"Why eat what you hate when the Great Hall is filled with other options, Frost?" he asked now.

She immediately shrank back, and Severus groaned to himself. The question had come out bemused, frustrated. He had to get a handle on his natural sarcasm around this kid. There was no other choice.

She wouldn't meet his eyes. "I hate peas and beans and things like that. I can't stand the texture. But those don't need to be cut. Garden salads do. Raw vegetables usually do." Her face reddened. "If you eat toast plain, you don't have to worry about trying to balance a knife full of spread."

"And if you take meat from the edge of the platter, you don't have to slice it," Severus filled in. The alien compassion rose up in him again. This time, he let himself feel it. His father, Tobias Snape, had been a terrible stickler for table manners—when he let Severus eat at all. What would he have to say to a girl who couldn't cut food properly? What would the less understanding students here say if they knew? _No wonder the girl came down with pneumonia. She's down on calories and worrying herself sick._

"I'd like you to speak to the kitchen elves," he addressed her now. "They can take care of those fine motor skill preparations for you."

"Oh. Are you sure they won't mind? I don't want to be extra work."

"Great Merlin, Frost. Are you _trying_ to starve yourself? That's why they're there." Instantly, Severus lowered his voice. "You are not extra work. If you need something spread on toast, or meat or vegetables sliced so they are manageable, you are entitled to that. For your health, if nothing else."

"But you're the one who said house elves aren't personal servants." Frost's voice wasn't argumentative, just matter-of-fact. "And you're right. People aren't here as personal servants to me." She sounded like she was quoting someone. "I was blessed to be able to do things other disabled people really can't, so I should try hard to do things for myself and not take help from people who really need it."

Severus was caught between laughing and roaring in frustration. On the one hand, Frost's work ethic and desire to empathize with others impressed him. On the other, how dare anyone, well-intentioned though they might be—and he suspected otherwise—tell her she couldn't accept help just because the next kid was in a wheelchair, or couldn't speak clearly, or whatever the manifestation of disability was? It was indecent.

"We're going to work on that," he said now in his most serious, Potions-Master-whose-classroom-is-a-mess voice. "You are no less worthy of assistance than anyone else. Are you hearing me?"

"Hearing, yes. Believing—I'll try."

"I will take it. I'd like to see you using the available bread spreads, and for Merlin's sake girl, eat proteins. I applaud your desire to stay healthy, but an occasional rasher of bacon or sausage won't kill you. And do change things up now and then. You're one of the only students I've met who doesn't touch the breakfast pastries or pastas."

Frost blushed again. "That's not to say they aren't tempting. It's just, those things will make me fatter than I already am."

"Frost." Severus bit down on a reprimand. "If I may ask—who has told you, or insinuated, you were fat?"

She looked at the floor. "It's kind of—well, I put the pieces together. I inherited my grandma's genes. She's short like me, and kind of, you know, round. At home, I've been to all these clinics where they—how do I explain it?" She thought a minute. "They help kids with disabilities. They test to see how well they walk and if they can pass neurological exams, and things like that. One time, a doctor told my parents I had a fifty percent chance to be fat as an adult because kids like me can't exercise as much or as well as other kids. And…" She shuddered again.

"And?" Severus dropped his tone to a gentle one he hadn't known he possessed. _I swear to Merlin, if someone hurt this child…_

"I don't really want to talk about it, please," she said. "All I want to say is, I didn't always have the best teachers. There was one who was really awful. One time—Mom packed cookies in my lunch. Just two, but I guess two is too many. She saw me eating them and came down from the teacher's table and whispered in my ear that…that I was a greedy little pig and no wonder I couldn't walk or run normally, eating like that."

Severus came close to demanding a name so he could find this teacher and hex the life out of her. Left up to his temper, he'd have Apparated out of school right then and strangled the self-righteous woman. Since none of that was an option, he raised Frost's chin to meet his eyes.

"You are the furthest thing from fat," he began. "That teacher, whoever she is, had no right to talk to you the way she did. I don't know much about disability clinics, but it sounds as though those doctors were overzealous as well." He pulled some parchment from his pocket, writing several things down. "You are under mine and Swanson's authority now—mine, for the foreseeable future. And for right now, health trumps beauty standards or whatever physical feats you think you should be able to perform." He handed the parchment to her. "What you see here are recommendations, based on the needed calories for a female your age and height. I 'll be supplementing that with a nutrient potion. Fair warning—I am not known for flavoring my concoctions, so you might want to chase it with whatever you're drinking. You will gain weight, but it will be at a steady and expected pace, so do not panic."

"Just as long as I don't turn into Dudley Dursley." She visibly shuddered.

"Impossible," Severus snorted. He checked the mantle clock. "Speaking of breakfast, the bell is about to ring. I'll meet you in the Great Hall with that nutrition potion—and I expect to see a reasonably full plate."

Frost nodded. "Thanks again—for everything."

"You're quite welcome." Severus waited until she left, saying something about retrieving her school bag, before he busied his mind with the needs of his other serpents. They were far less of a challenge. He could take care of what was going on—or not going on—in Finola Frost's stomach. But her heart? He groaned. There, he needed expert assistance, sooner rather than later.

 _Great Hall_

"Well, here goes." Finola lifted her vial of nutrition potion, poised to use a maple walnut muffin as a chaser. "Here's looking at you, Professor Snape. And here's hoping this works." The sooner she got off Snape's radar the better. His efforts to help were still cloaked in reprimands and a subtle, "You're so stupid." The memory of them made her shiver.

"How dare you!"

Finola nearly choked. Brenna Kettleburn loomed over the table. Her face and hair matched the crimson accents of her Gryffindor uniform, and her eyes shot venom. Lily stood with her, face blank but cheeks pale.

"Brenna, what…"

"Moving into Slytherin without telling us! And buddying up to her!" Brenna jerked a thumb at Anya, who sat across from Finola.

"Anya saved my life, or did you forget? And I didn't ask to move into Slytherin. Swanson and Snape double-teamed me. I can't go back to Ravenclaw, not now."

Brenna huffed. "Typical goody-goody, always doing what the teachers say. You've got a mouth—you could've said no! Swanson can protect you loads better than that greasy git ever did. How can you step foot in his house with the way he's treated you?"

"He apologized to me. He's trying to help."

"That's not how I hear it," Brenna contradicted. "Did he ever say the words, 'I'm sorry?' Did he ever say, 'I shouldn't have worked you to death?'"

"Brenna, come on," Lily coached. "You know that's not how Snape, or Slytherins, do things."

"Because they're lowdown, cheating, double-crossing _snakes."_ Brenna pointed at Finola. "If you had any guts, you'd march right back up to Ravenclaw Tower and tell Swanson that whether those witches are there or not, they won't drive you out of your house. What kind of Gifted witch are you?"

Anya pushed her plate back. "That's unfair. Finola has more guts than any of us, and there's no guarantee Thalia and the Primmingers or anyone will stop bullying her, unless they get expelled. Slytherin is sheltering her until we know for sure…"

"I thought Miss Independent didn't need sheltering." Brenna's voice dripped disgust. "Or is it that you're just a coward?"

"That's none of your business," Finola said. "And I think you're only upset because Snape and Anya are Slytherins, when they haven't done anything to me or you. You know what that makes you? A bigot."

"And it makes you naïve! Pure, sweet little Muggle, never been through a war. You don't know what their kind did to me, and…" Brenna's lip trembled. "Stay away from me, Finola Frost. You're nothing but a dirty traitor."

Brenna marched off. With a pained stare in Finola's direction, Lily followed. Anya touched Finola's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"No. I am not." Finola bit her muffin like she'd rather kill it than eat it. "But I've got other things to worry about right now."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

"Expelliarmus!"

Professor Lupin tottered on his feet, his wand flying from his hand. He crossed the room to retrieve it and shot Finola a thumbs-up. "Good show, Miss Frost. You're a quick study, and I love your tone of voice. You sounded like you were taking down Voldemort himself."

"No," Finola said. "I wasn't thinking about him. I don't know who he was, not like you guys do. He was a fictional character to me." Brenna's words about her naivete and lack of understanding bit her in the heart.

"And yet, something tells me you've faced things or people that were just as dreadful," Lupin predicted.

"That can't be. You, the other professors, most of the other kids—you've been through a war. I haven't."

Lupin gestured for Finola to sit at one of the desks, and he took the one next to her. "That doesn't mean your experiences aren't valuable. Life is not a contest. You need not suffer more or less to empathize with a fellow human being."

"Maybe not," Finola agreed. "But I want to understand the wizarding world. I want my friends to know I'm on their side." She drew in a breath. The question was risky, but Lupin would probably answer before any of the other professors would. Swanson hadn't been at Hogwarts, and the others would probably tell her to mind her own business.

"Professor Lupin? Tell me about it. I mean, I read about the Battle of Hogwarts. Those scenes were completely awful. But afterward…what was it like?"

Her professor sighed, his eyes darkening and taking on a faraway look. "You're lucky you saw it through the protected eyes of fiction, Miss Frost. What this school went through, what our people went through…it was hell. Excuse me."

"It's okay. It's not cursing if you mean it like the place, which I'm sure you do."

Lupin nodded. "My wife, Nymphadora Tonks—you know of her, yes? Well, we both suffered critical wounds. She pulled through first, and I suppose she was determined not to let me go. We lost hundreds of students from all four Houses. Many Slytherins fled, branded traitors by one side or the other. Even now, their siblings haven't come back. And members of the other Houses were found to be secret Death Eaters as well. There's a rumor Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff came back to fight for Voldemort."

"But he's—he died in the Triwizard Tournament."

"Officially, yes, but some fates were unclear. Our own Professor Snape was listed among the missing for quite a while. Who found him, or how they got him medical help, is unknown. But whoever treated him must have been fast. Nagini's bite resulted in a stroke. If the worst the man got from that was a weak leg, he's lucky indeed."

Finola nodded. "The books—uh, the fiction we've got—say he's dead. But what about the students? Kids like me?"

Lupin swallowed hard. "Ah, Miss Frost. Thank Merlin you weren't here. A Muggle-born like you would have faced heavy persecution under the Carrows, if you were allowed on campus at all. Those students who were here, especially the first- and second-years—we've lost track of some. Forced to learn the Dark Arts, they snapped their own wands, determined never to use magic again. For years after we reopened, Pomfrey and Snape spent more time treating trauma patients than teaching or healing physical injuries."

"I guess every student here lost somebody," Finola said, almost to herself. _Brenna._ Was that her major problem with Slytherins? Who had a Slytherin Death Eater stolen from her? A parent or sibling? A beloved grandparent? Finola thought of her own two grandmothers and knuckled away a tear that slipped beneath her glasses.

"Most of them," Lupin agreed. "Which is why we're here. We cannot allow the Dark Arts to rule again. That's why I'm training you to use your gift. Gifts—you were blessed. You seem doubly gifted in my class and Charms. Perhaps compensation for what you go through. But as you know, with great power comes great responsibility."

Finola looked her teacher in the eye. "I will do whatever you say."

Lupin smiled. "Good answer." He stood and took his stance in the center of the room. "Let's go again. Try Depulso this time. Don't worry—I've been knocked off my feet plenty of times."

"Okay." Finola crossed the room and did her best to copy Lupin.

"Good, good. No, don't lock your knees. You'll pass out. That's better. Feet shoulder-width apart—right. Now, focus on what you want your wand to do."

Finola raised her wand, summoning all her emotion to the forefront. The humiliation and fury when Snape called her out in class. The determination to save Nutmeg from those murderous girls—because that's what they were. Determination to stand for her classmates, the students who snapped their own wands. Suddenly, Lupin wasn't Lupin anymore, but a faceless, evil force.

" _Depulso!"_

"Ah!" Lupin fairly flew across the room. When he got up, he was laughing.

"Brilliant work, brilliant! Most fourth-years can't manage what you just did. Shall we keep going, or do you need a break?"

Finola rubbed her wand arm. After forty minutes of their weekly private lesson, it was screaming. Yet where she'd always been exhausted before, new energy thrummed through her now. "I'm actually okay. If you are."

"I am, but remember, I'm a professional. Let's give it a few more minutes and then I want you off your feet. Shall we try your Boggart again?"

Finola's mouth went dry, but she squared her shoulders. If she couldn't face a Boggart, what would she do against this new enemy, whoever or whatever it was? Besides, Boggarts changed sometimes. Maybe hers was less threatening today.

"I'm ready."

"All right. Try Ridikkulus first, just to show me you can do it." Lupin pushed the trunk over. "Three…two…one."

The trunk opened. This time, a horrid smell leaked out—the smell of boiled food, urine, and no hope. The room filled Finola's senses. She was still trapped there, dirty, disheveled, and unable to move or speak. Blinding white and hospital green assaulted her eyes. The air grew colder, thicker, even than Snape's dungeon. And instead of potion bottles on the walls, there were restraints, locks, and beeping monitors.

She raised her wand. "Ridikkulus." It came out a whisper.

"Ridikkulus!"

The Boggart didn't shift or move. In fact, the smells and sounds worsened. The classroom and Lupin faded, while a hard, unrelenting voice drummed against Finola's ears. She couldn't make out what it said, but she knew it was dreadful.

"I can't. I can't!" She thrust her wand at the hateful thing. "Confringo!"

 _BOOM._ The Boggart's odor gave way to smoke, its white and green to flame. Finola groped her way back to her desk as though blind, and collapsed into a chair. Her heart hammered, her breath rasped. Somewhere in the back of her consciousness, she registered rushing footsteps and pouring liquid.

"Here, take this." Lupin pressed a mug of cocoa into her hands. "Researchers have found liquid chocolate hits the bloodstream faster." He waited for her to drink a little. "Strange Boggart, that. What was it?"

But Finola shook her head. "I don't think I can explain it right now."

Lupin nodded. "This has happened before, but not with a Boggart like that and not to a student so young. Do you need Madame Pomfrey?"

"I'll be okay." _I think._

"All right, if you're sure. Again, you're doing excellent work."

"I hope so. Whoever or whatever this new enemy is, I want to be ready." Finola sipped her cocoa. "Professor Lupin? What is this new enemy, exactly? Can't you tell me?"

"I could," Lupin said. "But the other teachers and I have agreed it's best to wait a bit longer. Your friends, the Misses Kettleburn, Glazkov, and Corrigan have been taking private lessons in their gifts as well. We'd like you all to have more training under your belts, and then tell you together. Knowledge like this—it's easier to take with the support of friends."

"I guess that makes sense," Finola agreed. "I wouldn't really know. I've never had many friends." Her heart squeezed again, thinking of Brenna calling her a dirty traitor for moving into Slytherin. New thoughts curdled the cocoa in her stomach. _Was she right? Am I a coward? A traitor?_ Whatever Slytherins had done to hurt Brenna, it had to be major. She'd told Finola Slytherins weren't so bad since the war, but maybe that was all an act, or an attempt to convince herself. Either way, there must be something Finola could do to get her friend back, especially if they were both Gifted.

"Is there any more word on which Ravenclaw girl is Gifted, me or Thalia?" she asked her professor now.

"Well, it's only a month into term, but you should be getting an owl soon, I think." Lupin studied her, eyes concerned. "We have ten minutes left. Do you feel up to a quick drill or two, or do you need rest?"

Finola started to reassure him she was okay, but an inner voice, sounding a lot like Snape, checked her. "I think I need to rest now. Besides, I have Potions next and I'll need all my energy. We're supposed to do herbicide, and poisons require…" She imitated Snape's voice. "Constant vigilance."

"Herbicide already, eh? Old Snivelus always did have a taste for the dangerous," Lupin muttered. "Well, I know how tough that class is on you. Good luck. Oh, and eh…" Lupin crossed to his desk and scribbled a note. "Will you please deliver this to him?"

 _Potions Classroom_

"Extra Wolfsbane potion. As if the man thinks I have nothing better to do," Snape harrumphed. "I got a similar delivery from Aaron Goldblatt out of Gryffindor last month. The man needs to learn students are not his errand elves." He blinked, appearing to notice for the first time Finola was there. "Ah, Frost. I'll deliver that potion tonight after our session, and we can head back to Slytherin House together from there. Go along…that cauldron's not going to preheat itself."

"Yes, Professor." Finola slipped to her usual table. Her house change meant she now took Potions primarily with Gryffindor. Brenna looked up from her side of the table. "What are you and the Snake doing now? Inventing new death potions?"

Finola gripped patience as tight as she could. "Actually, that was a note from Professor Lupin. I came here from a private lesson." She tried an overture. "How are your lessons with McGonagall going?"

Brenna grinned then. "I can transfigure a candle into a lightbulb and back. McGonagall says most fourth-years don't manage it the first try." She glowered, as if remembering she was supposed to be mad. "Not that you'd care."

"Clearly, I do. Come on, Brenna. This whole house change, it wasn't my idea. And you know I don't condone some of the things Slytherin has done in the past. Why judge me now?"

"Ladies!" Snape clapped once, hard. "This is a Potions classroom, not Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop. Chitchat on your own time. Tatlock, you ruddy idiot, watch the bloody heat before you blow us all into oblivion!"

Brenna and Finola remained silent throughout the lesson. Brenna offered help as she usually did, but the air remained strained. Meanwhile, Snape criticized or just plain yelled at almost everyone, clomping about the room as if in a particularly foul mood. The only one to escape his wrath was Anya Glazkov; he practically cooed over her herbicide.

"Splendid, certainly worthy of a mark higher than an O. I'd suggest we keep this far away from Longbottom's gardens."

"Ugh, he makes me _sick_." Brenna jammed her ladle into her cauldron. "And look at her, beaming like a bloody Christmas tree. I don't care if she saved your life, she's…"

"Brenna," Finola warned as her friend stirred as hard as she could. "Bren, watch out, you're gonna…"

For the second time that day, something exploded. Finola leapt back as herbicide splashed over her work area. A few people screamed. Professor Snape stormed over, charmed away the mess, and rounded on Brenna with all the mercy of a hurricane.

"Miss Kettleburn! What is it about my class that inspires such recklessness and irresponsibility? Destruction of property, wanton endangerment of fellow students, waste of ingredients…fifty points from Gryffindor, and I'll see you in detention! Are you so puffed up with your own Giftedness in transfiguration that brewing the simplest potion correctly is beneath you?"

Snape's tirade went on from there. He didn't call Brenna retarded, or otherwise make personal slams. But the longer he went on, the redder Brenna's face got. Finola caught a tear forming on the edge of her friend's eyelash. Empathy cloaked her, and she took a deep breath, but Snape pointed the innocuous end of his wand toward her.

"Don't even think it Frost, unless you want to join your friend in detention for questioning a teacher's authority."

Finola's head told her to keep her mouth shut. But in that moment, the room seemed to fade, until it was just Snape and her, staring each other down. Courage and peace mixed in her heart, and she knew what to say.

"If I have to, I will," she said. "Professor, I know what Brenna did was careless. I know you just want to keep us safe. But you shouldn't rip kids apart in class like this. Taking points is one thing; that's fair. But this…it's wrong."

As on the first day, the entire class froze. Snape and Finola stared each other down some more.

"Well, then." His tone remained neutral. "I suppose there will be a change in our normal potions tutoring session. We'll make it a joint detention, where your friend can repair and scrub cauldrons—and you can write me an essay explaining exactly why you have such issues keeping your opinions to yourself."

 _Detention, That Night_

"I need to step into the storage room. I expect silence." Snape scowled at Brenna and Finola. "Miss Kettleburn, the last cauldron you'll repair and clean is your own. Frost, you still owe me two inches."

Brenna caught Finola's eye from where she was standing at the sink. "Don't think it matters," she mouthed. "What do you think you are now, a martyr?"

Finola flexed her cramping right hand and switched to her left. One perk of a Dicta-Quill was, it wrote legibly no matter which hand she used. A spurt of antagonism entered her chest, and she put her finger over her lips. "Shhh."

"Goody two-shoes."

"Bigot."

Finola bent over her parchment again. The scratch of the Dicta-Quill soothed her aching heart, but not by much. Ever so slowly, she ripped a bit from the edge and wrote a note. _We have to talk. Name where and when._

"Wingardium Leviosa," she directed, hardly moving her lips. The note floated over to her friend. A minute later, it came back.

 _Courtyard, 10:30. Unless you're too afraid of the Snake to sneak out._

The girls exchanged an eye message that said, "You're on." Finola put the finishing touches on her essay, just as Snape strode back in and scrutinized Brenna's work.

"Humph. Adequate. Miss Kettleburn, you're dismissed." He stepped to Finola's desk and took her parchment. "Miss Frost, you may accompany me to make a delivery—and explain to Professor Lupin why you'll be attending the tutoring session you missed next Wednesday. I'm sure he will be disappointed that his best student has to miss important training because she made trouble."

Snape's words hit the mark. Disappointing a parent or teacher had always been Finola's weakness. At home, words like "I'm disappointed in you" hurt more than any punishment, even spanking. To disappoint a teacher who'd taken her into his house, bent over backwards to help her, was doubly demoralizing. Yet she knew better than to show it. She simply nodded and waited for Professor Snape to fetch the Wolfsbane from the storage room.

Snape returned carrying what was shaped like a normal vial, but wasn't. This vial appeared made from gold and chiseled stones in the Hogwarts colors. The stopper was decorated with a silver representation of the medical symbol.

"Oh." Finola gasped in spite of herself. "I've never seen one like that. Did you get it as a medic?" She clamped her mouth shut. Now Snape probably thought she was trying to butter him up.

"No." Though simple, the answer was conversational, if not genial. He swept out of the room, and Finola followed. "Commemorative, then?" she guessed, hurrying behind.

Snape shortened his stride. "Wrong again. It's a vial, not a fiftieth anniversary watch." He muttered something about Muggles. "And enough with Twenty Questions. You need your energy to explain what happened."

"Right. Got it. I'll shut up."

Snape actually half-smiled. "Now, did I say 'shut up?'" He turned, faced her. "You've never been in trouble before, Muggle or wizarding school, so let me make a few things clear. This doesn't affect your scholarship. And even us cold, backstabbing Slytherins believe in clean slates—for Gryffindors as well. Do you hear what I'm saying?"

"Yes, I do."

They walked in silence for several steps, until Finola's nose caught an odd, yet distinct odor. Her Boggart's odor. But Boggarts didn't trail you, did they? The odor enveloped her, along with a deep, throbbing hiss, similar to a cicada and a rattlesnake combined. Heat blasted the back of her neck.

"Frost." Snape's voice was hardly audible. He handed her the vial. "Take this and run."

"What?"

"Just do it, girl. They'll expect me to have it, not you. Make for Lupin's room, but take a circuitous route if you can. Go!"

Finola tucked the vial in her robes and took off. She rushed, harder than when Snape kicked her out of class, harder than if those girls had Nutmeg again, harder than when she tried to escape Muggle school bullies, student and teacher alike. Her naturally stiff feet tripped her up a few times, but she always righted herself.

The heat and odor followed, right on her heels. Finola switched to memory mode. Dad coached PeeWee football—which way did he tell the little guys to fake? Toward or away from an opening? She veered into an alcove, back, and faked again. One mad dash toward Lupin's classroom, and the signs of her pursuer disappeared. Her foot snagged on a loose stone, and Snape caught her.

"All right, Frost?"

She nodded, out of breath and coughing. Snape handed her something from his pocket.

"Cough drop. It'll hold you over until you can take a potion dose." He led the way to the classroom and banged on the door.

"Lupin! Lupin, get the blazes out here!"

The door opened. "Severus, there you are. Finola, what…"

"Your slacking almost got your prize pupil killed. Don't expect her next Wednesday. I'd sooner leave her with a pack of she-wolves than with you. Frost, the vial?"

Openmouthed, Finola handed over the vial, and Snape nodded. "All right, let's go."

Finola was caught between reveling in relief that she didn't have to explain to Lupin, and analyzing what she'd just experienced. But she didn't dare say anything, just followed Snape back to Slytherin House. He gave the password, but didn't go in.

"Get changed, take your potion, and go to bed. Homework can wait. Read, write your parents, I don't care what you do, but stay in your room tonight. You need rest. They didn't mark you, but your core is vulnerable."

"Yes, but…"

"Are you a goat? Upstairs, now."

Finola obeyed. Brenna's disparaging name echoed in her head, but she pushed it away. Goody two-shoes or not, she'd already pushed it as far as she wanted to with her new Head of House. She still couldn't figure out what had possessed her to challenge him—again.

Finola gulped her meds and chased them with a bit of chocolate Lupin had given her. No sweets after eight—well, Snape would just have to deal. She called Nutmeg to her, and the cat jumped into her lap for a snuggle. Finola obliged, tracing the Ravenclaw insignia on her nightgown.

Longing for Ravenclaw filled her, and not just because she'd gotten detention tonight. Any self-respecting teacher would've punished her. But tonight, Slytherin felt as alien and cold as she always feared. Through the walls, she picked up traces of Snape's voice, ordering students to do this or that. He sounded normal, but oh, how she missed having a professor who would speak amiably to her students. One who answered homework questions without a begrudging grimace, or played Exploding Snap with a group when they needed another guy.

Of course, the absence of bullying was a plus, and always would be. If that was the price she paid, Finola would transfigure her robes green this moment and tell the Sorting Hat she was staying, so put that in its juice box and suck it. And yet, she was a guest in a hotel, not a family member. The other Slytherins her age had established their groups and she, at best, was their "special buddy," someone they needed to be "extra nice" to. She belonged to both Houses, yet neither.

Finola crossed to an emerald chair near her desk to pray. "Two houses. Two lives, Muggle and witch. Please Lord, help me figure this out. Thank you for protecting me from—whatever that was. And forgive me, please. I don't mean to keep getting on Snape's bad side. You say slaves should submit to masters, even when they're unkind. I guess the same's true for students and teachers."

She paused. "But back there…help me understand. I felt like you _wanted_ me to say that to Professor Snape. Did you? What happened?"

Still wondering, Finola took out the devotional Mom and her grandmas had bought her before she left for school. "God can see and hear you even in a world of wizards and witches," Mom had promised. Today's devotional had her in Acts, the story of Peter and John before the Sanhedrin. A verse jumped out at her—"We must obey God rather than men."

Finola thought this over and nodded. "Okay. So then, help me know who to obey and when—and how to honor both. And God?" She looked up. "I'm gonna have to deal with this teacher for seven years, Slytherin or Ravenclaw. I don't think he knows you from Adam's housecat, as Memaw says. But you think you could…I don't know. He doesn't have to be nicey-nice, that'd be weird. But smooth down the rough edges a little?"

 _Slytherin Dorm Supervisor's Quarters_

Severus steeped his mug of tea and pulled Frost's essay from the pile on his desk. He didn't normally bother reading detention essays—most students told him what he wanted to hear and left it at that. Although there had been a Muggleborn a few years ago who filled the whole thing with repetitions of "Row, row, row your boat." Another student, a Gryffindor naturally, wrote, **SUCK IT, SNAPE** across the center and slapped it on his desk. What, precisely, would a student like Frost have to say? Endless apologies and Biblical references, he guessed, but he'd read the thing anyway.

 _I've never been good at measuring,_ the essay began. _I suppose today, I got the scales' balance wrong again. Professor Snape, you gave me a second chance and have tried harder than almost anyone to make sure I was okay, and what did I do? I did what my parents would probably bust my tail for doing. I back-talked a teacher. I am sorry, but not because of what I said. I'm sorry that I said it the wrong way and hurt you._

 _It's your classroom, not mine, and I should learn to keep my mouth shut. If some angry kid blew up my cauldron and sent poison splattering everywhere, I'd probably yell and cuss, too. To be honest, I'm still not used to the way Hogwarts teachers run their classrooms, not that that's an excuse, because it isn't. I should have stepped back and reminded myself it wasn't personal. You weren't trying to hurt Brenna, just keep us all from killing ourselves._

 _You might not believe this, but usually in situations like that, I do keep my mouth shut because I don't want to be the next one to get yelled at. It's just, well, Brenna didn't want me to see, but you made her cry. I've been there. It hurts like the devil, being called out in class like that. I couldn't let her suffer in silence. She's already angry with me because she thinks I willingly transferred to Slytherin without telling her, and somehow, that means I side with Death Eaters or something. My desire to help a friend eclipsed my need to obey._

 _Again, you're the teacher and you should run your classroom the way you want. If you have to yell, do it, I really don't care. I have classmates back home I wish my teachers had humiliated and kicked out. I suppose my problem is my heart. A teacher bullied me before, a hundred times worse than you did or maybe ever could. When I see an adult doing that to a kid, making them feel powerless and stupid, I can't take it. Plus, let's face it, you're pretty darn scary even in a good mood, which makes it worse. I snap. I promise to learn to control it, and not to question you again. I might need some help, but maybe Profs. Lupin or Swanson can do that. In the meantime, I'll, I don't know, do deep breathing or something._

 _Again, I'm sorry for giving you a hard time when you've helped me so much. I know what you say about apologies, but this time, I really did mess up. So…I'm asking you for a clean slate._

 _-Finola Jane Frost_

Severus read the essay twice, then thrice. True repentance, and empathy beyond her years. Was this what Christianity—the real stuff, not the rantings of the fanatics he'd suffered from in childhood—did to people? And what effect would it have on the darkness now stalking Hogwarts? Was Frost the school's strongest weapon, or a sitting duck?

Severus rose and dialed up the Floo Network. "Swanson? Snape. May I come through?"

The muted laughter coming through the line from the other house's common room abated. Murmurings came through now, and scattering footsteps. But Monica Swanson was cheery as ever. "Sure thing. The younger kids have folded their wings for the night, so I'm introducing some of the older kids to Muggle board and card games. C'mon over, I'll let them cream you in Monopoly."

"I didn't understand a word of that, but I'll be over momentarily. I need your advice."

 _Ravenclaw Dorm Supervisor's Office_

Monica set the essay down. "Whoa. Either Finola Frost is a bona-fide, stinking saint, or she's planning to Avada Kedavara you in your sleep."

"I'd lay odds on the former," Severus said. "And that's what worries me."

Monica nodded. "I know my Bible pretty well. It's clear on submission, but Finola seems to think that also means, 'let people abuse you, especially people who are bigger, older, and meaner.' No offense."

"None taken, and I got that impression, too."

"Right." Monica slumped into a royal blue velvet, basket-shaped chair. "I've talked until Dumbledore's sick of hearing my voice. He seems to think the bullying, even the incident with Finola's cat, was all harmless pranks. He wants Thalia and the Primmingers, and the others, back on campus."

Severus indulged in a few of his best curse words. Frost thought he was bad in Potions? If she could hear him, or read his mind, she'd be ready to perform an exorcism. "Bloody blundering fool." Not willing to throw his colleague's property, he settled for leaning out the window to spit.

"My sentiments exactly," Swanson deadpanned. "But I can keep them in line. They come back in my house, they'll think juvie is the Hilton."

"Juvie?"

"Kids' jail. Azkaban light. You know." She actually winked. "You look the type of guy who did time."

"If I had, I wouldn't have survived to thirty-eight." Tobias Snape would've killed him, then brought him back to do it again. As for what came later… He shuddered. Anxious to shake off the memories, he risked bantering back. "However, I can—what is it called when Muggles use a car without the keys? When they…" He gestured. "Fiddle around, get the engine to turn over?"

Her jaw dropped. "No way. You can hotwire a car?"

"Basic science, Swanson. Any of your Ravens could figure it out. And don't spread it around."

"My lips are sealed. But—wow. That's pretty edgy for a genius, straitlaced, former pureblood supremacist."

"Emphasis on 'former.'"

"Right, right. Back to Finola. I don't care how much she thinks I hover, from now on I'm watching that girl like a hawk. But we've got to get her to defend herself. Dueling's not allowed on school grounds, but there's got to be a way we can convince her hitting back won't send her straight to hell—or worse, get her expelled."

"Indeed. She's brave, but untested." Severus sighed. "I worry too, Swanson. Finola believes in an unconditionally loving God because she knows no different. She's suffered greatly, but not like what our enemy could put her through. If she's unprepared, she could lose her faith to cynicism, depression, or just plain giving up. And…" He inhaled. "We—I can't let that happen. That can't happen."

"You said it, Jack." Severus must've looked confused, because Swanson smiled. "American thing. Kind of like calling a guy a bloke." She arched her brows. "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"Yes. We have to be careful. Set the conditions so she's in a controlled environment. But now that Frost is safe, the next thing we've got to do is get her angry."

Swanson's eyes twinkled. "That could be fun."

"Or it could kill us all."

"In this situation, I say ride or die." Swanson stuck out her hand. "So, is Operation Viper a go?"

"Swanson, do speak English."

She grinned. "Operation Viper. In the Bible, Jesus tells His followers to be wise as serpents, innocent as doves. Finola's got the dove part down, but she needs some serious, if controlled, fangs."

"You said it, Jane."

"Severus Snape, did you just make a joke?"

"Don't get used to it. Yes, we're a go."

They shook hands. Severus wasn't sure who let go first, but they both held on a little longer than necessary. He walked back to Slytherin House with his hands exposed, soaking up the cold air. But his right hand remained warm for hours.


	9. Chapter 9

_Library, Morning Break_

"Finola Jane Frost. I am so mad at you I could spit! You insisted we talk and didn't even show up. Thank Merlin I know Evanesco or McGonagall would've caught me."

Finola sighed and closed her book. "I know. Things got way out of hand last night. Someone, or something, tried to attack me when Snape and I were delivering Lupin's potion. Snape acted like I could've been killed, and when we got back, he practically grounded me. I was afraid if I tried to leave…"

Brenna plopped into a chair. "Girl, when are you gonna get over it? The worst that snake, or any teacher, can do is give you a detention."

"I could lose my scholarship. I could be expelled, and I can't afford that." Lupin's words entered Finola's brain. "I didn't experience the war, but I've been through some serious crap, Bren. If I told you half of what people have called me, said about me, tried to do to me…you'd be ready to use an Unforgivable Curse or three. This isn't the suffering Olympics, so stop acting like you've cornered the market on pain."

"Pain? Okay Miss I'm-Disabled-They-Call-Me-Names. Have you ever lost anybody? Did crazy blood purity fanatics send you that person's _finger_ in a _wand box_?"

Finola's hand went to her mouth. She breathed deeply. "Brenna, no. Who?"

Her friend stared at the floor, inhaled, blew out a breath, and inhaled again. Her hands went to her face, and she released a couple sobs. Finola reached toward her, but Brenna pulled away. With a powerful sniffle, she finally looked up.

"You know I'm half-blood," she began. "But my family's best friends back in Belfast, the Hennesseys, were pure-blood. My ma had her kids at the same time Mrs. Hennessey had hers. We all grew up together, the four of us Kettleburn kids and the six of them. We stuck together because we were Catholic in NorIron, let alone wizards. Dodgy combination, you know?"

"Sure."

Brenna sniffled again. "I was closest to Niall. He was ten years older, but I guess I was sort of his mascot. The war was winding down when he was at Hogwarts; we all thought he'd be okay. He and Brian Hennessey were best mates, and they were sorted into Slytherin."

"Wait." Finola reached into her memory. "The Sorting Hat was burned then, right? Everybody was a Slytherin."

"Yes, but a couple of the teachers performed makeshift sortings on the sly. Brian was a true Slytherin. Niall could've been a Slytherin or Gryffindor, but he chose Slytherin out of loyalty to his friend. They were so close they could've been the same bloke. They made a pact to not get sucked into the Death Eaters, the Dark Arts…but Brian broke it. Niall went after him, tried to save him." Brenna scoffed. "He pulled a Snape, tried to play double agent."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not," Brenna said. "Niall was kind of Snape's protégé. Aces at Potions—he could've helped you get all O's from the start. Snape taught him everything he knew, although at the time, Potter was his first priority. The way the Ministry told it to Ma and Da, Snape tried to protect Niall and students like him. Voldy never quite found out, or Snape would've been a dead man in two minutes."

"So then what…"

"Brian betrayed Niall." Brenna sobbed again. "Niall tried to get out, but…" She shook her head. "They used Crucio and Sectumsempra on him. All that was left…"

"The finger," Finola breathed. "Brenna."

"I answered the door. We'd been lying low. Rumors were the war was almost over, so we had hope Niall would come home okay. But I opened that door, and the Minister was standing there, holding Niall's broken wand—I started screaming and couldn't stop."

"Oh, my God." Finola wasn't swearing. "And you blame Slytherin?"

"I didn't, not at first. I told myself it would be okay, that they'd changed, Snape had changed. But when you got sick, I wrote Ma and Da what happened. Da wrote me back—it was a Howler. The whole Great Hall heard."

"Brenna, no."

"He—he said I deserved to have my wand snapped in front of the whole school. He said Niall was rolling in his grave, and if I had anything to do with 'those snot-colored, sneaking, lying serpents' again, he'd disown me. He doesn't care that Anya saved you and Nutmeg, or that Snape wants to help you. To him, if you wear green, you're scum. I love Da, Finola. I've always been closer to him than Ma. I can't lose him, too."

"Of course not." Finola hugged her friend, who melted into the embrace. She thought of her own dad. A little strict, sure, a little protective, but losing him or anyone else in her family over magic, or house affiliation, or anything else, would devastate her. She let go.

"Well, that settles it," she said, lifting her chin. "I'm going back to Ravenclaw as soon as the teachers say okay."

Brenna squeezed Finola's shoulder. "No. Not if all they do there is bully you. Not that I've been much better." She picked at her cuticles. "I'm sorry, mate. None of what happened to me was your fault, and I blamed you for trying to stay safe. I was just worried, I guess. And, well…I don't get it. I understand forgiveness and all, but he destroyed you that first day. He's been totally unfair about your Potions grades. So…why?"

"Well, he didn't give me much choice about the house switch," Finola pointed out. "The other—I don't know. Believe me, sometimes he makes me so mad I could scream. But he's really trying. And well, if you and I and the other Gifted are going to have to battle something serious, I'd rather have Snape with us than against us."

Brenna nodded. "I get it. And hey, thanks for sticking your neck out in Potions the other day. You've got more nerve than a rat in a room full of Kneazles, girlfriend."

Finola hesitated. "So…we're okay?"

"We're cool. Sorry, again." She laughed. "You apologize enough for three people. It's my turn. I don't care what house you're from. If you end up staying in Slytherin, I guess I can try to talk Da around."

Finola shook her head. "I'm not staying. The longer I'm in Slytherin, the more I see I don't belong. Anya, Elinor, a lot of them have been great. But I can't take being around Snape 24-7. Besides, I chose Ravenclaw with my heart. I don't know how it'll all work out, but I'm trying to trust it will." The memory of last night crept up on her. "If I survive until the end of the year, that is."

Brenna perked up then. "Yeah, what happened? How do you practically get killed delivering a potion?"

Finola explained. "I don't know what that creature was," she finished, "but Snape was completely weird about it. He said something about how it hadn't marked me, but my core was still vulnerable. What does that mean?"

"Your magical core," Brenna explained. "Every witch or wizard has one. It preserves your magic so you can use it when you need it. Certain things strengthen or weaken it. Like, if you let your emotions get out of control and do magic out of anger, it drains you." She shrugged. "I used to do that a lot when I was little," she said in a sheepish voice.

"So Snape must've worried I was getting drained," Finola reasoned. "What did he mean about marking, though?"

Brenna's forehead wrinkled in thought. "I wonder if he meant something like a Death Eater tattoo, or the way Dementors feed on thoughts and memories. People who've been around them aren't physically marked, but you can totally tell."

Finola's gaze went to the bookshelves. "I bet there's something in here to explain it."

"Probably in the Restricted Section," Brenna cautioned. "Are you up to asking one of the teachers for a note?"

Finola shivered. "I'll think about it. If I can't get a note…" She trailed off.

"Finola Frost. Are you telling me you'd sneak into the Restricted Section? You, of all people?"

Finola shrugged. "If I were going to break rules, that's what I'd do. Nobody gets between me and books. For now, though, I'll wait and see if I can get legit information from the professors." She looked her friend in the eye. "My life got turned upside down this fall. I'm trying to find my feet, make allies and keep them. You can understand, can't you?"

"Yeah, and I'm sorry I called you a goody-two-shoes and said you didn't have guts. I've written Ma and Da about you. They say I could stand to be a little more like you, unless I actually like detention."

"Yeah, but there's nobody I'd rather serve it with. Kind of like, 'man, we screwed up, but it was fun!'"

Brenna laughed. "I'm right there with you—and that detention was worth it. The look on Snape's face!" She sobered. "Seriously, I think it'll be a while before he bullies another student. You're a freaking hero."

"Please. All I want to do is pass first year."

"Too late, girlfriend." Brenna reached into her robes. "Billingsley loaned me his smartphone. Look what he came up with." She punched a few buttons. After several seconds of static and interference, a video filled the screen—the terrible moment that first day when Finola pulled her wand and called Snape evil. But at that moment, the video froze on Snape's face, and blue letters proclaiming **YOU GOT FROSTED** filled the screen.

Brenna scrolled through other versions. Some had a narrating voice proclaiming things like, "Whoa, she Snaped Snape!" or, "You got SERVED!" Others showed sparks shooting from Finola's wand and knocking Snape across the room, into a cauldron full of slime, or upside down from the rafters. Others captured the moment and then segued into songs like "We Will Rock You." Still another showed an older Ravenclaw interviewing a fellow student:

"A normal Potions class turned into a dust-up today after a new Ravenclaw decided she'd had quite enough of Professor Snape's infamous bullying. I'm now joined by Randy Billingsley from Hufflepuff, who watched all the drama unfold. Mr. Billingsley, can you tell us in your own words what your impression was?"

The footage cut to Billingsley, a glasses-wearing Hufflepuff kid with an earring. "Oh, yeah, it was wicked, man! What happened was…" The interview then cut to cobbled footage and a catchy rap song describing the events.

"Oh, no!" Finola slapped hands against flaming cheeks. "Brenna, who's seen this stuff?"

"Nobody yet. Billingsley's still choosing his best for when the school goes digital."

"He can't show these around school; Snape will think it was all my idea!"

"No, he won't. You need seriously good vision to crop the footage together and do the coding, all that. Snape would know right off it wasn't you. Besides, you may be the only kid at Hogwarts he actually likes."

"Tolerates. He kind of reminds me of some old therapists or doctors. Like, 'I'll be nice, but if you step out of line, I'll harangue you into repentance.'"

"I didn't quite understand that, but it might not be true. I don't think anybody's been brave enough to call him on his crap before, and he respects it."

"That's what McGonagall said." Finola sighed, fingering the braided blue and green ribbon she'd worn in her hair more often than not these days. "It doesn't help me decide, though. I mean, I'm leaning heavily toward Ravenclaw, but there're rumors the bullies didn't get expelled. Snape doesn't think I can hold my own without him and his house backing me up, and suppose he's right?"

Brenna blew a raspberry. "He's right about a lot, but not that. Lily and I, we're gonna help you come up with a plan to take care of those prats. No, nothing illegal," she rushed on. "Just standing up for yourself, claiming your turf. And Anya will help, too."

Finola had to giggle. "You trust her?"

"Hey, she saved my best friend's life. We've got flying next. I'll talk to her then. Are you coming?"

Finola sighed. Flying scared the magic out of her, yet seeing the other students on their brooms, she ached to try. But Madame Hooch refused until Swanson and the other professors got some modifications in place so she wouldn't break her neck or fly headlong into the castle. Between the bullying, classes, and her bout with pneumonia, Finola hadn't asked for an update.

"No. I'll be here, studying. Don't worry," she added when Brenna scowled. "Snape made me swear witch's honor not to go near Potions. Lupin loaned me this wicked book on spiritual gifts, Christians with magic, that sort of thing. I can't wait to dive in." She glanced out a window. _Although I'd rather be diving on a broom._

Brenna hugged her. "I'll talk to Hooch for you. Happy reading."

 _Slytherin Girls' Dorm, Evening_

Finola set her Dicta-Quill to Typed Font, a way to help Mom and Dad keep their cover about her going to a Muggle boarding school in Scotland.

 _Dear Mom, Dad, and Family,_

 _I know, I should've written ages ago, but it's been nuts around here. Adjusting to a new school and country is a significant challenge. If you're ready, here's what Dad would call The Good, The Bad, and the…well, not Ugly. Maybe Weird? Interesting? Intriguing?_

 _It all started on the first day, when…_

Finola continued writing, spilling all the details. Dumbledore and McGonagall would charm pertinent parts of the letter so that if anyone other than her parents saw it, they would think it came from a regular school. For instance, Ravenclaw became Raven House. Snape became a curmudgeonly math and chemistry teacher with a penchant for black. Flying became gym class. But one thing remained the same.

 _More than anything, I wish you could meet my friends. Brenna is Irish, from Lion House. Memaw would call her a spitfire. If anyone so much as looks at her friends cross-eyed, she's ready to kill. She's a pro at fixing and creating things, seemingly from thin air, and has a wicked sense of humor (that's "really cool," in Brit-speak)._

 _Lily is Scottish and a member of Badger House. We think of her as our team Mom. She's kind of quiet and serious, but a great girl to have on your side. Her best class is our Biology/Herbology course, but she loves animals as well. She has a cat like me, a white and orange girl named Peaches. She's spoiled rotten, but the sweetest cat you'll ever meet—besides Nutmeg, that is._

 _Anya is our representative from Serpent House. That house sort of has a bad rap around here, because apparently back in the day, it's where a lot of snobs and bullies ended up. As noted though, I've found most of them pretty cool, even if living under Snape's authority is a little like living under Captain von Trapp, before Maria softened his heart. Anyway, Anya is quiet and withdrawn at times, but she's brilliant. She gets straight O's, for one thing, especially in Snape's class where I'm still all thumbs. I think she's been taught to keep emotions locked down, but she's got a good heart._

 _I love it here, but I do miss you guys like crazy. I miss Dad challenging me in Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble. Mom, I miss the way you and I watch_ Gilmore Girls _and_ Touched by an Angel _and other old shows on DVDs on Friday nights. These people don't know Lorelai Gilmore from Emma Swan or Roma Downey._

 _I guess for now, I'm working out where I belong, trying to trust God to show me. I promise to write again soon. Tell everyone hello for me._

 _Love,_

 _Finola_

 _A Few Days Later, Dumbledore's Office_

"Sherbert lemons," Severus Snape half-growled at the gargoyles guarding the Headmaster's door. Even mentioning the candy sent nausea ricocheting through his stomach.

"Severus, do come in!" Dumbledore, decked in crimson and silver robes today, with clashing purple shoes and socks patterned with stars and moons, seemed more effusive than usual. "Sit, sit…did I take you from breakfast? You look a bit peaky today."

"I didn't get much sleep," Severus challenged. Finola Frost's time as an honorary serpent was winding down, and thus far, he'd heard nothing definite regarding the fate of her tormentors. He'd paced the Slytherin halls half the night, trying to burn the image of his own bullies, plus himself looming over Frost and decimating her, off his eyelids. In the end, he'd resorted to a sleeping draught and crashed in a chair.

"Sorry to hear that, my boy."

"I'm even sorrier to say it. Now, what's this about?"

Dumbledore gestured toward the Floo Network. "Special circumstances. Finola Frost wrote home a few days ago. One of my Muggle contacts, a neighbor, said her parents were anxious to speak with us, and Professor Swanson. She's on her way; one of her female Ravens is under a particularly bad red moon at the moment."

Severus leaned forward, curiosity overtaking him. "How did Muggles gain access to the Floo Network?"

"My contact, although I'm trying out some new spells. When the Frosts leave, they will think they simply flew out to Finola's Muggle school for a conference, got back on a quick plane, and just need to shake off jet lag."

"Ah. Sir, you don't think they'd remove Frost from Hogwarts, do you?"

"No. They don't have that kind of power in our world, although they can and will use what power they have," Dumbledore cautioned. "My main worry is…"

He was cut off when Swanson breezed through the door, and the Floo Network opened. The Muggles who dropped in were, Severus had to admit, some of the better-appointed ones he'd seen. Mrs. Frost, a statuesque woman with jade eyes and cinnamon hair, wore heels and a business suit, and carried a navy blue messenger bag. Her hair was swept up in a fashionable twist, showing off teardrop pearl earbobs.

In contrast, Finola Frost was her father's spitting image, only female. They had the same hazel eyes and darker brown hair, though Mr. Frost's was much shorter, just a couple steps removed from a military cut. He wore rimless silver spectacles; poor eyesight must run in the family. While he wore khakis and a button-down, they'd been pressed within inches of their lives. A wedding band and gold watch were his only adornments.

"Severus, Monica," Dumbledore began. "I'd like you to meet Finola's parents. This is Judge Eliot J. Frost, and his wife, Sarah, of Hollyhock Village."

 _Judge?_ Severus eyed his student's dad. Ah, so this was what Swanson meant about ties to the Muggle justice system. Indeed, if Severus were non-magical, this man would probably intimidate him. Those hazel eyes, though neutral, bore a cold undertone that said Eliot J. was tougher than a year of hard time, especially where his daughter was concerned.

But if Swanson was taken aback, she never showed it. She offered her hand first to the dad, then the mom. "Hi, Monica Swanson. I'm Finola's Charms teacher and den mom. Well, officially." She shrugged, setting Severus' teeth on edge. "Finola has told me a lot about you both, and it's wonderful to meet you." She stepped back a little. "You two have yourselves one great kid."

"We know." This came from Judge Frost. "We wish the rest of the world were as quick to understand that, magical or not." He eyed Severus. He eyed both teachers. "We understand Fin's education has gotten off to a somewhat rocky start."

Swanson spoke up. "Sir—Your Honor. If we might explain?"

"No need." This came from Sarah Frost. She pinned the three school administrators with a freezing jade gaze, reminding Severus a bit of his Lily in a serious mood. "Finola speaks highly of you both, and it's clear you've done your best to clean up the messes in your classrooms and dorms. Eliot and I owe you a debt. You've cared for and about her in a world where we can't."

"Be that as it may," Judge Frost spoke up, "a mess of manure is still manure." His gaze swung to Severus. "You in particular, son—I must ask, who the blazing heck do you think you are? Your stunt the first day was bad enough, but then to turn around and terrorize my daughter's friends, and work her into the ground because she doesn't get high enough grades? I know, I know," he cut Severus off. "Fin's a perfectionist; part of the responsibility rests with her. But she's a child, and you're a grown man. You have power over her, and you've abused it. So again, Severus Snape, _who do you think you are?"_

Severus hesitated, unsure how to react first. The idea of this man, who couldn't be much older than mid-forties if that, calling him "son," was almost hilarious. "Blazing heck"—yes, clearly, Frost had grown up in the most conservative environment he could've envisioned. But… A mix of self-defense, regret, and self-hatred stirred in his chest. It locked, and he could hardly breathe. Lily's face, her eyes full of disappointment, took over his psyche.

"I…I don't know." His voice was a croak, and it took all his control to maintain eye contact with the judge. _Get a grip, Snape, the man's a Muggle. You could end him in two seconds._ Yet something about this man, this couple, stayed his hand and heart.

"I'm a teacher," he began again. "Not the best, and certainly not the most congenial. I won't apologize for that. But I'm also a teacher trying to rectify past mistakes, and that's all I can offer."

The Frosts exchanged looks. Sarah spoke now, voice soft but steady. "Finola forgives you, and as a grown woman I can do no less. But I want assurance that _both_ of you will care for her as we would. If our access is going to be limited for the next several years…"

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "I can promise, Finola isn't another Harry Potter. She's not a sacrifice; whatever she goes through, she'll ultimately come out alive, strong, and more than sane. But for all parties' protection, she must maintain limited family interaction and contact, even when visiting. Severus and Monica have already acted as her den parents. With your permission, I want them to act _in loco parentis_ in other capacities."

"Meaning?" Sarah asked.

"Meaning, she answers to them as she would a mother and father. Meaning, should she need to stay here outside of the school year, they care for her as a daughter. It would be a bit like your church's tradition of godparents."

"Our denomination doesn't have those," Sarah Frost corrected. "But I'll agree, on two conditions. One, you find a trusted Christian, magic or not, to oversee Finola's religious growth. And two…" She pointed at Severus. "Forgiveness doesn't mean trust. I want something done so I know if…"

"We know if you're abusing your role, both of you," Judge Frost finished. "You lay a finger on her, either of you, or let anybody else do it, I can and will _bury_ you."

Swanson's face turned the color of milk. Severus' core heated. Judge or not, this man had a lot of nerve, pretending he and his wife were saints.

An almost foreign sensation—Lily? His own conscience? Whatever it was, it checked him. Imperfect or not, Eliot and Sarah Frost had wiped away their daughter's tears. They'd nurtured her strengths as best they could. They'd held her, forgiven her disobedience on the rare occasions it happened. They'd taught her to love God and others at their knees.

"They're right." Swanson addressed Severus. "Headmaster, is there…"

"There is," Dumbledore said. "It's called the _Sanguis Parentis_ spell. It does what the Frosts request, binding Finola to you by a blood vow. And Mrs. Frost, I have the perfect person in mind, a Narnian queen and mage who often visits our world. Perhaps you're familiar with Lucy Pevensie?"

"Yes—she's an adult?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "All grown up now. I'll owl her immediately." He looked at the Frosts. "Eliot, Sarah, as to your concern about teachers' conduct, particularly Severus' there are solutions. If it were up to me, I'd employ threefold law…"

"Headmaster, no." Amazingly, Monica Swanson spoke up. She actually reached her arm toward Severus' chair, like a mother shielding a child when she slammed on the brakes in a car. "What does it say about forgiveness and mercy if…"

"Mercy stands," Dumbledore interrupted. "Unfortunately, so do consequences. As I was saying— " He popped a sherbert lemon in his mouth and talked around it. "Threefold law essentially means that whatever Severus has done to Finola, he would have done to him, threefold, every day for the duration of the sentence. However, considering both Severus and Finola's histories, threefold law may do more harm than good."

"I'm inclined to disagree," Sarah Frost said, speaking with all the acridness of a mama bear whose cub has been attacked. "Left up to me, I'd have this Snape guy turned into a worm and writhing on one of Eliot's fishhooks down in Sugar Creek."

Judge Frost actually laughed. "I appreciate the sentiment, honey. But…" He studied Severus. "I read those books too, you know. Never thought you got the ending you deserve." He sat back. "I see a lot of hard-bitten criminals in my courtroom, Snape. Too few have the guts to walk away from darkness for good. I think you do. Now, that doesn't mean you shouldn't take your medicine—but essentially putting a shock collar on you like you were a disobedient dog won't help anybody, let alone my kid."

"Well, I…thank you, sir. Judge. I…think. I can't believe I'm asking a Muggle, but as Finola's father—what would you do?" Severus flinched. Now he knew why they called it "eating crow." His mouth tasted worse than if he'd drunk a cauldron of Polyjuice Potion.

Judge Frost looked at the ceiling—just like his daughter did when she was thinking hard, Severus noted with a quirk of his mouth. "I don't know magic," he said, "or the bylaws of your world. I'd probably suggest some sort of surveillance for both you and—Monica, was it? Monica Swanson?"

"Yes," Dumbledore interrupted, "and I can perform a surveillance spell. Severus, you will enter into it with Monica so that if either of you ever abuses Finola in any way, as a teacher or parental figure, you will feel appropriate consequences. But Severus, your conduct record means your consequences would naturally be harsher. As for the transgressions you've already committed, I will employ Quid Pro Quo Law." He addressed Eliot and Sarah. "It's akin to the old, 'eye for eye, tooth for tooth.' That is, should Severus' rather strict methods go too far, the very worst he can expect to feel is an inward verbal lashing that while severe, would not traumatize. And he would have to go pretty far."

"So what, he could call my daughter retarded one time and just feel a virtual slap on the wrist?" Judge Frost challenged.

"Oh, no, Your Honor. No, no, no. Remember, the verbal trauma is as _bad_ as it gets. For instance, should Severus use that slur again…"

"Which I do not intend to," the potions master felt the need to insist.

"He might feel physical ramifications—perhaps the pain of a sudden horrendous sore throat, for a minute or less. Rest assured, Finola will never be abused in his classroom again, nor will any other child. And honestly, the length and type of discipline is somewhat in Finola's hands. The spell won't work unless she asks for clemency on Severus' behalf. Without clemency, Quid Pro Quo Law is quite karmic. I've seen the worst punishment be private flagellation."

Severus jumped to his feet. "Albus, this is ridiculous! If you expect me to kowtow to those little…"

"Not kowtow, Severus. Not even be nice to. Just, relate to as fellow human beings."

"This is outrageous! I am not…"

"Ahhh." His supervisor raised a staying finger. "I remind you, it could be far worse." He locked eyes and delivered Severus a message— _Don't underestimate me. I could have you in Azkaban or Tartanox by midnight._ The vision the message channeled sent Severus back to his chair. He gulped down his first real fear since the war—the emotion he vowed never to feel again.

"I'll submit to it," he agreed. "For the girl."

"Good. I'll send a House Elf to retrieve her. Mr. and Mrs. Frost, I'm sure you'd like to see your daughter, and we have ceremonies to perform."

"Headmaster?" Swanson asked. "You can't mean you want her to be present for the sentencing ceremony? She's a sensitive kid. It would hurt her, too."

"Unfortunately, the spell won't work the right way unless Finola, the victim wronged, expresses her desire for mercy. As for hurting—she'll endure far worse, Monica. It's time she learned."

Several moments later, the door opened again. Finola thanked the House Elf at her side and started to greet her headmaster and teachers, until Dumbledore stepped aside to reveal the Frosts. Severus leaned forward, steeling himself for effusiveness and tears. But his student simply gasped before rushing across the floor, beaming. She launched herself into her parents' arms.

"Mom! Dad! Who…how…when…" She looked to her teachers. "Did you guys do this?"

"No, I did," Dumbledore said, the definition of a loving grandfather. "After your letter, they insisted on coming to visit, and to keep all us magical folk in line."

Finola let go and took the last chair in the room, but kept one hand on her parents' knees as if afraid to let go. "I'm so glad to see you. How'd you get here? I have so much to tell you, I can't wait for you to meet…"

Dumbledore held up his hand. "There'll be plenty of time. Your parents have my permission to stay today, have tea with you, meet your friends. But there are some serious things we must talk about."

Severus waited while Dumbledore explained every detail of the plans the adults had made, from religious instruction with the Pevensie woman to the parental spell. Finola's smile never dropped, and her eyes sparkled with both happiness and tears. But like a miniature adult herself, she listened patiently, quietly, though she bit her lip several times. She kept her hands folded, eyes down, as if she were a young novitiate learning the seriousness of vows.

"It'll be difficult," she finally said. "I don't know if I can do this. But I know God is with me. I know He…I'll do it. For Him, and to help you guys." She chuckled. "Besides, not every girl is lucky enough to have four parents."

"Then we'll perform the ceremony now," Dumbledore agreed. "But Finola? There is one more thing." He inhaled and explained Quid Pro Quo Law.

Finola turned eyes on Severus then, sad and concerned. "Headmaster, are you sure? I'm the one who pulled my wand. I'm the one who shot off my mouth. I'm the one who ought to be punished."

"No." Severus spoke up. He stood and, in deference to Finola's still-diminutive height, got on her level. "Your parents are right, as is Al—Dumbledore. No teacher's classroom should function as a prison. I'm getting less than I deserve."

"Remember, Fin," her father added. "Sometimes justice makes grace that much sweeter."

Finola looked back to Dumbledore. "This law, being under surveillance—it won't hurt them, will it? They won't like, start bleeding from whip wounds if they raise their voices to me?"

"No," Dumbledore said. "Fair, reasonable discipline won't do a thing. I won't even penalize Severus for yelling, taking inordinate points, or calling everyone dunderheads." He laughed. "This is just to ensure no one is abused, and your parents are assured of your safety. Shall we proceed?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right. We'll begin with the _Sanguis Parentis_ spell. Professors, Mr. and Mrs. Frost, join Finola. Stand in a circle and clasp hands. Finola, take the hand of a biological parent on one side and a professor on the other. The spell will remain binding."

Finola nodded, taking her dad's hand and Swanson's. Meanwhile, Severus was locked between the Frosts. Eliot's face was unreadable, and Sarah was sniffling.

Dumbledore stepped to the circle's center, lifted his wand, and spoke the appropriate incantation. He nodded to Finola. "Now take your mother's hand and Severus'."

Finola obeyed, and the incantation was repeated.

"Drop hands," Dumbledore instructed. "This next part is the blood vow. It won't make Finola a biological Swanson or Snape, but it will bind her to them as a daughter. I must take blood from all five people present." When Finola blanched, he chuckled. "I'll use my wand. You won't feel it."

Carefully, Dumbledore waved his wand over everyone's thumbs. Drops of blood appeared, frozen on flesh. The headmaster brought forth a chalice.

"Everyone, dip your thumbs. Good. Now…" Another incantation, and the chalice filled with a bubbling beverage smelling of plums.

"I added a Christian element in honor of Finola's faith," Dumbledore explained. "Mr. and Mrs. Frost, if you agree to allow Finola's professors serve _in loco parentis,_ while maintaining your own roles as much as feasible, and loving your daughter, say, "We will" and drink one sip."

"We will."

Eliot Frost's eyebrows arched. "Chocolate?"

"Flavoring. Now, Professors Swanson and Snape. If you agree to serve as Finola's teachers and parental figures during her time at Hogwarts, love, lead, and direct her as good parents would, say "We will" and drink once."

"We will." Severus locked his hand on the chalice's stem, scolding it for shaking.

"Finola Frost. If you agree to submit to these professors' authority, with as much respect as a daughter, and grow to love and respect them as mentors while maintaining love and respect for your biological parents, say "I will" and drink once." Dumbledore offered the chalice. "Are you ready, dear?"

She took it. Her hand shook too, and some liquid splashed. Judge Frost steadied her hand. "It's okay, pumpkin. You're ours, first and forever."

"I…I will." She drank, and Dumbledore waved his wand again.

"The five of you are now bound in double _Sanguis Parentis._ Severus? Monica?"

The surveillance spell was much quicker, a simple incantation and wand wave or two. A magical, vapory version of the Frosts' hands rested on their daughter's head, then shook virtual hands with Severus and Monica.

"Now, if you will all stay as witnesses." Dumbledore's voice turned low, almost stone-like. Severus retreated behind a mask, features blank. He focused on the pattern in Dumbledore's Turkish rug, not unlike the way he used to focus on patterns when Tobias Snape beat him for any infraction.

"Finola, step over here, please. That's right…come on over. Don't be afraid. Stand there and wait for my cue. Monica, stand behind her. Severus, sit down across from me."

Severus did so. Dumbledore's wand came up, resting on Severus' mouth. A spark flew, hitting the wall. Sarah Frost screamed, but Dumbledore gave her a reassuring look as he tapped the wand against Severus' wrists, ankles. More sparks flew. Severus forced himself to relax as bonds appeared, as if he were on trial. He opened his mouth, already forgetting his voice was temporarily gone. As he expected, his student went white.

"Don't…" She took a step forward, but Monica pulled her back.

"It has to be this way, honey. If the defendant protests or tries to run, the spell doesn't work, and actually, he or she receives a worse punishment."

Finola mouthed something that sounded like "justice" and looked to her parents. Her mom nodded.

"Stay with Monica, Fin. Just think of it this way—up to me, that man would be missing an arm and a leg."

Finola actually smiled, but didn't take her eyes from Dumbledore, who raised his wand again. "Severus Snape, in light of deplorable verbal and psychological conduct toward countless students, and in particular Finola Frost, an innocent victim, you are henceforth subject to Quid Pro Quo Law. Every physical, mental, emotional or spiritual wound you have afflicted on your victims, you will feel in your own body and mind, up to and including the severity of your own transgressions. The effects are permanent, unless a witness is willing to speak for you. If any are willing, step forward now."

Finola practically ran into the appropriate spot. What shocked Severus to his core was another pair of shoes following her—Monica Swanson's.

Finola opened her mouth, but Dumbledore silenced her. "Wait. There are certain words. Repeat after me, dear. I…"

"I…"

"State your full name."

"Finola Jane Frost."

"Of my own free will and being of sound mind, do extend mercy to Severus Snape."

Finola repeated the words, eyes on the ceiling as if addressing God Himself. Dumbledore nodded. "Good. Monica?"

Swanson completed the spiel, and Dumbledore raised his wand, performing the incantation for Modified Quid Pro Quo Law. "In light of the mercy of these two witnesses, may your suffering be bearable, may you live in relative peace, and may the sentence not exceed…" He paused. "Seven months. The number of completion."

Dumbledore performed the release incantation and tapped Severus' mouth again. _"Vox Restorus."_

"Finally," Severus growled. "If you will excuse me, I'd like to test whether I can brew a potion without enduring burning lashes. Left at the mercy of an eleven-year-old—good grief."

"Watch it, son," Judge Frost snapped. "Spell or not, I carry a Glock."

Severus swept out, Finola's concerned eyes following. He caught Swanson whispering and chuckling, probably saying something about his curmudgeonly ways.

 _Corridor_

"Severus!" Monica's voice stopped him midway to his quarters. "Wait up."

"Come to gloat?"

"I never gloat."

"Where's Finola?"

"Oh, her parents have her. She's got the rest of the day off." Swanson laughed. "Although she's already begged them to make it an early night so she can get back and finish her homework."

"I'd expect nothing else," Severus chuckled. "She's been a perfect houseguest."

"I'm sure. But…" Monica shook her head. "Darn it, Severus. I miss that kid. I want her back in Ravenclaw. Now that we're both under the spell…"

"Yes, yes. I think she misses you, too. But now we'll both be there to help her." Severus hesitated. "Swanson—Monica." Why did his name feel so good, so right, on his lips? "Thank you. You didn't have to step in; one witness would've done it."

"I know. And believe me, I mostly did it for the kid. She can't stand to see anybody hurt; I think she'd speak up for Voldemort if she could. But I've got a feeling nobody ever gave you mercy."

"Not a smidge."

"Then use it. There's a good man in there somewhere, Severus Snape."

Severus snorted. "If so, he died when I was a student. He died the day I called Lily that name."

"She would've forgiven you if she could. And if you ask Finola—and me—the dead can be resurrected. I believe in that man, Severus


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

 **A/N: Sorry for the wait; my computer's been in the shop. Song lyric credits go to Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein. Also, thanks to Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz for the inspiration behind the code name Operation Arctic Tern.**

"You'll write more than once a month from now on, won't you?" Mom's voice was half-teasing, but Finola caught anxiety there. She embraced her.

"Sure I will."

Dad cupped her face in his hands. "We're proud of you, kiddo. Keep doing what you're doing, and know we're always rooting for you."

"Okay, Dad."

"Monica? Severus?" Mom turned to them. "I don't understand half of what goes on around here. If our church knew about…they might hurt our girl, even without meaning to. I guess life's not always safe, witch or Muggle. But…" She trailed off. It was the first time Finola had seen her mom at a loss.

Professor Swanson nodded. "I raised two sisters, Sarah. I—we—will take care of her."

"Of course." Mom, then Dad, drew Finola to them in crushing hugs. "See you at Christmas, honey," Dad said. "We'll even try for Thanksgiving."

Finola blinked a few times and forced out a laugh. "That's okay. I hate turkey, anyway."

"Ah, but nobody makes pecan pie like your old mom, huh?" Mom teased. "It'll fly by. I love you so much."

A quick, flurried round of embraces, kisses, and "I love yous" later, Finola cleared her throat. "I should uh, get back to the dorms. Homework. And Professors?" She smiled. "I'm not going to tell anyone about the Sanguis Parentis, or…the other thing. Please, treat me as you always have."

"Or better." Snape's voice held a promise. "I applaud your maturity, Miss Frost."

"Ah, wise beyond her years," Dumbledore complimented. "The true mark of a raven. Miss Frost, now seems as good a time as any to tell you—I expect you back in your own house within forty-eight hours."

"Yes, sir. But…Thalia Harrington, the others, are they…"

"They have received hearings. Lucretia Primminger, as the eldest of the perpetrators and one who should know better, has been expelled for one year pending community service to the school and Hogsmeade. The others have, or will, return to campus, but you will be under strict protection. For instance, you will only ever interact with Thalia Harrington, and only in the capacity of determining who takes the last Gifted spot."

Alarms pealed in Finola's head, but she didn't dare contradict the Headmaster after everything he'd done for her—everything the school had done. She gave him her Sunday school smile. "Okay. Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome, Miss Frost. Now, I see it's nearly curfew. Professor Snape, suppose I escort your student back to Slytherin House for the night? That way you and Professor Swanson can hash out any questions and concerns you have, and speak with me tomorrow."

"Of course, Headmaster. That's a fine idea."

Finola walked out of Dumbledore's office with the distinct impression she and her professor were both lying.

 _Corridor_

"Oh, my. Slow down, dear—let an old man catch up. You've certainly learned your way around Hogwarts these days—hardly even need an escort."

Finola slowed down a bit. "Thanks, but Professor Swanson said she liked the idea, at least until Christmas, since the routes and staircases change so much and all."

"Indeed. Smart lady, that Monica—eh, Professor Swanson. Now, do tell me, dear…" Dumbledore gestured to the small bag of books Finola carried over her arm, gifts from Mom and Dad since her favorite authors weren't readily available in the Wizarding World. "Which of those lovely authors is your favorite?"

An amiable conversation about books ensued, until they were halfway down to the dungeons. Suddenly, Dumbledore almost yanked Finola into an alcove.

"Ouch! What…" Finola glanced around for signs of the creature from the other night, or another adversary. Dumbledore's face went shadowed in the evening candlelight. Just like on the first day, it went from grandfatherly to granite in five seconds flat.

"I'm over a hundred and sixty, my girl, and I've survived two wars," he hissed. "Your politeness and talk of a merciful Creator don't fool me."

"I…what?"

"Snape was right about you the first time. I don't know how, but I'd lay odds you somehow engineered those pranks and confrontations yourself."

"No! Why would I…"

"Hush!" Dumbledore squeezed her arm, hard. "I warn you now, Finola Frost. Hogwarts is my home, and I've been far too foolish in the past, letting "special" students and professors who know too much try to destroy it. You may be Gifted, but if you use that gift the wrong way, even Severus and Monica can't protect you."

"Sir, I don't understand. I'd never…"

He shoved her shoulders back so she was pinned against stone. "Do you know what Tartanox is?"

"N-no."

"It is a relatively new place in our world. Something of a—criminalized mental institution." Dumbledore's lips tipped in a smirk. "Somewhere they send nosy, self-righteous little witches who don't know their place. The last haven of Dementors, where even they fear to tread. Keep that in mind, and know I expect to be obeyed above all others." He twisted the arm he still held. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I…yes, sir."

"Lovely." Dumbledore raised his wand. "Obliviate!"

Finola found herself alone at the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, holding a couple of shopping bags. Dumbledore must have had to rush back to the office. And…oooh. She rubbed her arm. Those bags must be heavier than she thought.

"Password?" Salazar demanded.

"Asphodel," Finola replied.

"Enter."

 _Dumbledore's Office_

"So, let us know if you have any questions," Judge Eliot Frost told Severus and Swanson. "Finola's my own daughter and she still confuses me sometimes."

"Amen to that." Sarah gave a teary laugh. "She's eleven going on forty—but still a kid. I hope she has time here to enjoy being that."

"I think we can guarantee it," Swanson said. "While we have your ear, though, there's something I wanted to bring up. With Finola's enemies coming back to campus…" Her face twisted like she was sucking a lemon. "We can and will protect her, but…"

"She needs to stand up for herself," Severus finished. "The trouble is, she isn't good at it, unless of course we're talking about me and my propensity to make her friends shake in their oversized first-year robes. Even then, she's somehow gotten the idea that I, as a teacher—that all teachers—are untouchable because they've been imbued with some sort of divine authority." He gave the Frosts his best glacial glare, daring them to deny they'd used Scripture to make their daughter fall in line.

But Judge Frost was as savvy a Muggle as they came. "I know that look, Snape, and before you go further, let me clear up some things. We're not rabid fundamentalists. We've made mistakes—trying to suppress Finola's magic is one. And she's had some experiences with public school teachers and principals that…well, it got ugly. Her worst teacher knew she was a Christian and used the submission argument against her." He passed a hand over his eyes. "We took Fin to counseling, but—in a lot of ways, she hasn't gotten up from it."

"What is this woman's name?" Severus demanded. "If what you say is true, she needs to be held accountable."

"Threefold law sounds too good for the wretch," Swanson added.

"We agree," Sarah Frost said. "But you need to understand—Fin has the gift of mercy. She can't stand to see anyone hurt, even if they deserve it. I've seen her run and hide in a guest bedroom when one of her cousins got spanked. The day Eliot and I confronted that excuse for a teacher, Finola stayed home from school. She was literally sick with worry and guilt."

Severus bit down on a swear word. "That's not good. Mr. and Mrs. Frost, let me level with you. Finola may see and hear things at this school that will push her to her limit. She can't fall apart every time someone is called names, or knocked down in a duel, or Merlin forbid, tortured. She's got to get some fire in her—learn that the bully may be God's creation but blast it, sometimes they made their bed and must lie in it. I can and will push her as hard as I dare, but with this bloody Quid Pro Quo Law in effect…"

"How do we get her angry," Swanson finished, "without crossing into abusive territory? Eliot, Sarah, you know her best. What makes her honest-to-goodness, get-out-of-my-way, I'll-slap-you-to-Hogsmeade-and-dare-you-to-walk-back _mad_?"

The parents laughed, and Severus couldn't help guffawing himself. Monica had such an easy, down-to-earth way of making her point and yet keeping things congenial, meaning business and yet never losing her approachable demeanor. Not even Lily could do that. She was more like Finola Frost—gentle to a fault unless complete decimation was in the picture. _How does Swanson do it? And for Merlin's sake, why can't I quit calling her Monica?_

Judge Frost tapped his fingers against his chair arm. "I remember when Finola was reading the books about your world for the first time. Sarah and I were afraid Voldemort would upset her, but he didn't. Even you, Severus—we always talked about the books together. I remember her saying, 'If Snape was the one protecting Harry from Quirrell, then he must have some good in him.' Umbridge, though…that Umbridge woman gave her nightmares. Flashbacks. We skipped a lot of _Order of the Phoenix_." Judge Frost shook his head. "But Umbridge also made Finola angry. Her counselor used the fictional character as an outlet for Fin to work through her real experiences."

Monica— _Swanson, for Merlin's sake!_ —nodded. "We can use that, with your permission. If Finola can't handle actually seeing Umbridge—or a representation of her—maybe just audio will do it."

Mrs. Frost hummed in agreement. "Finola also gets angry if you imply she can't do something. Some things, she knows are dangerous for her, like climbing trees, or certain sports. But I've used reverse psychology before. Say she's slaving over math problems, calling herself every kind of stupid. I say, 'You're right, you just can't do this.' Boom—she gives me the evil eye and throws herself into the task." She turned to Severus. "Your class seems like it's the hardest one for Finola. Maybe if you implied that you would fix her grade, make things a little too easy. Or if, during a tutoring session, you acted so nice that she knew you were being phony."

"I'd pay my last Galleon to see that one," Swanson laughed.

"I'll thank you to manufacture hilarity at someone else's expense," Severus shot back. Yet he couldn't help smiling. He stood and shook the Frosts' hands. "You have my word. Finola may never think I'm Teacher of the Year material, but she will be all right. For one, we're cutting the tutoring sessions back significantly. For another, Swanson and I will continue working up ideas to make her a more confident and secure girl."

 _Slytherin Girls' Dorm, Night_

" _Where is it? Give it to me!"_

Finola stirred, then woke, unsure if the vapory yet threatening voice was real or a dream. Heat pulsated through the room, making her throw back her covers despite the autumn chill. The windows rattled, and an eerie hiss surrounded her. She got up, tried to pinpoint the source, but the hiss seemingly emanated from all four walls at once.

" _Come now…be a good girl…"_ Though coaxing, the words shot adrenaline clear to Finola's toes. The windows rattled again, and she dared step to the pane. A moment later, she stumbled, almost knocked off her feet. Sweeping toward the window was a bright scarlet creature, something that resembled a ghost. Yet instead of features, this had a gaping black hole for a mouth and empty eye sockets.

Finola froze, caught in indecision. Did she have time to grab her wand? Her eyes darted to the emergency bell in the corner. If she rang, could Professor Snape get here in time, or would the thing disappear? Frantic, disjointed prayers swirled in her head.

"No! Oh, no…no, I didn't mean it!" Anya's cry snagged Finola's attention. At the same moment, the hateful scarlet thing disappeared. Hissing and heat gave way to silence and chill. Meanwhile, Anya moaned and thrashed in her bed.

"Anya." Finola tiptoe-ran to her friend's side and shook her gently. "Anya, wake up."

"What?" Anya startled, then let out a forceful exhale. "Oooohhhhh…."

"It's okay. You were having a nightmare."

"Did I wake you?"

"I'm glad you did." Mentioning the creature would probably make Anya worse. Finola motioned in the direction of the water carafe, kept in every Slytherin dorm for students who got thirsty or needed comfort in the night. "Do you want some water?"

"No."

"Should I get Elinor? Snape?"

"No. P-please, just stay with me." Anya shuddered, and Finola straightened her bedclothes as best she could. Afterward, she scooted onto Anya's bed and held her hand. The girls sat in silence for several minutes until Anya whispered,

"Is it past midnight? What day is it?"

"Um, October tenth, why?"

Another ragged exhale. "Then I still have time."

"Time? Anya, what is it? You can tell me."

"No. No, I can never tell anyone. You would hate me if you knew. Brenna, Lily, they all would. I would be expelled."

"I…don't know about that. But I could never hate you. Please talk to me. At least tell me about the nightmare. My mom always says that helps."

Anya drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. After a few more minutes, she began. "My father is Russian-Romanian. My mother is English. Both sets of parents were Death Eaters. For a long time, Papa was an active Death Eater, too. That's—where I heard…that's why I called you a mudblood."

Finola nodded. "You said 'was.' So your dad and grandparents switched sides?"

"No, it's more complicated, and it goes further back. Anya raised her wand. "Muffilatio." When Finola opened her mouth, Anya gestured to the door. "That'll keep the conversation private. At Hogwarts, they're serious when they say the walls have ears."

"Right. Go on."

"No one knows about this, not even Professor Snape," Anya began. "I asked my parents' permission to tell my Head of House, whoever it was, but they felt it wasn't worth the risk." She drew in a breath. "I'm cursed."

"Cursed how?"

"It started a long time ago. The Glazkovs have been extremely wealthy and powerful for centuries. We make the Malfoys look like beggars. Unfortunately, my great-great-grandfather lost his wife, his true love, in a…witch burning. He turned to Darkness in revenge, and so went the descendants. We aren't only wizards. Do you know Dracula? The Hound of the Baskervilles?"

"Yeah…that last one is one of my favorite mysteries. Wait. Are you saying…"

"Yes. Glazkovs are adept at covering their tracks, and their legendary evil has spread for years. Had it not been for an aunt of mine falling for a Narnian mage, a follower of Aslan…"

Finola's mouth dropped open. "No. No freaking way! That happens?"

Anya giggled. "You'd be amazed what a witch on the run, an open portal, and a passionate romance can lead to. Anyway, Aunt Svetlana converted. She and my Uncle Gabe had to elope, but they were eventually, grudgingly accepted. My parents were the first to accept them back, and I've always been close to them. But by the time I was a little girl, we'd had to leave the Carpathian Mountains, and Voldemort was in power."

"Papa had given up the Dark Arts, but to protect me and Mama, he followed in Professor Snape's footsteps. He became a double agent. Professor Snape won't tell me, but I have a feeling they worked together. Papa's a Potions and Herbology master, and I happen to know he's spent plenty of time inventing new antivenins."

"How cool is that?" Finola breathed.

"Pretty wicked," Anya admitted. "But as you know, you can't lie to the Dark Lord. Papa thought he got away with it, but Death Eaters showed up to our house one night. Papa hid Mama and I in a Vanishing Cabinet, but the spell didn't work. They found us. They were going to kill us, but Voldemort chose to let Papa suffer. He used me. He…placed a curse on me."

"What sort of curse?"

"A time-released one. In my eleventh year, in the tenth month, on the twenty-first day or thereafter…I could become a werewolf."

"Anya! Wait, no, that's not possible. You have to be bitten first."

"Not this time. Voldemort not only cursed me, but our entire family. Mama—she turns half basilisk every summer, when the air is wetter than the rains. Papa, he has an insatiable taste for blood that strikes when hunting of the stag begins. And my…" Anya gulped. "I have two little cousins. Twins, a boy and a girl. One has the lycanthropy curse. The other—when her menses come, she'll develop an insatiable taste for blood, like Papa."

Finola sat, dumbstruck, for several moments. She prayed for a prompting, but the only thing she could think to do was embrace her friend. "Anya, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Anya sobbed against Finola's shoulder. "It could happen any moment, any night. Mama and Papa held off, but they had to—register me. I can't sleep with the other girls in the dormitory. The last full moon, I locked myself in my room, pleading God would spare me. He answered, but what about next time? Dumbledore knows, and I've heard him talking with Filch. That awful bilge-water rat wants me chained in the dungeon."

Finola held Anya tighter. "I won't let that happen. He'll go through me first."

"Finola, take this the right way, but how could you stop him?"

"I don't get straight O's in Lupin's class for nothing. I'd hex Filch and spend the rest of the term in detention if I had to. Speaking of, why can't you tell Lupin? He knows all about lycanthropy. He and his family would protect you."

"No." Anya clutched her necklace. "I can't go to Lupin because of his family. He has a little one."

"Snape, then. We'll talk to him. He'll get you some wolfsbane potion, he'll find a place you can go…"

Anya shook her head, hard. "The curse was specific. Not only did I not have to be bitten, but wolfsbane won't work. Once I turn for the first time, it's uncontrollable." She sobbed again. "I can't stand it. I would look at you or Brenna and Lily and see…"

"Meat." Finola mouthed the hateful word. "Still, there's gotta be something. Is there anything that can be done to hold off the first transformation?"

Anya closed her eyes briefly. "Wolfsbane might hold it off for a while. I might only get slight symptoms. Long nails, increased meat cravings, that sort of thing. But if I approach Snape and ask for any…you know how he feels about Lupin, about—creatures."

"Yeah, but he only feels that way because Lupin was good buddies with the guy who bullied him," Finola pointed out. "You're different. You're a Slytherin, and Slytherins protect their own. We could ask before anyone else got up and overheard. I'd come with you."

"Are you sure?"

"Better to ask and get a potential ally now, than end up at Dumbledore's mercy." A foggy memory overtook Finola's brain. "I don't know why, but something tells me our headmaster is a phony. At least you know where you stand with Snape."

"I'll think on it," Anya promised. "But for now, when I close my eyes, all I see is Voldemort cursing us all." She shuddered. "I wish Mama were here. She always knew what to do when—when I thought about it. She would offer warm milk or sing to me."

"Sing, huh? Then you came to the right place." Finola grabbed the inspiration and held on tight. She gestured for Anya to lie back and began a song that always calmed her spirit, sotto voce.

" _Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…_

 _Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens…_

 _Brown paper packages tied up with strings…_

 _These are a few of my favorite things…"_

Yet Finola guessed they'd need far more than kittens or packages to deal with what was coming.

 _Snape's Office, Morning_

"You ought to have come to me sooner, Glazkov. You could have endangered the entire school. You have shown cowardice and rebellion unworthy of a Slytherin. What's worse, you dragged a vulnerable friend into it. However, what is the Muggle expression—better late than never? Humph. I'll be hanged before I see a student in chains. Glazkov, you may share Lupin's potion supply. I will advise him of the situation, and we will work on an appropriate sanctuary for a transforming female student. Also, fifty points from Slytherin for maintaining a potentially dangerous cover-up."

Anya hung her head. "Yes, Professor."

"But I will give you twenty-five of those back," Snape said, "if, and only if, you brew a perfect potion in class today. You are dismissed."

Finola stood to leave too, but Snape waved her down. "Frost, stay behind."

"Yes, Professor?"

Snape half-smiled at her. "Twenty points to Ravenclaw. Ten for showing compassion to a friend, and encouraging her to seek help from an adult. And ten for acquitting yourself well as a guest in another House. This past week, you have shown diligence, accepted assistance, and obeyed my authority even though I'm not your Head of House. Most first-years would not do such, for any House or teacher."

"Thank you, Professor. For everything. If there's anything I can do…"

"Simply maintain what you have learned here. Eat and sleep properly. Ask for assistance when needed and expect the compassion you offer others. And don't be afraid to use cunning, ambition, and a little cutthroat cleverness. It's not ungodly or immoral if you're doing it for the right reasons."

Finola sighed. "You're talking about Thalia Harrington and her crowd. I wish I could stand up to them. Everyone acts like it should be so easy, and maybe it should, but what they've done goes beyond name-calling and backstabbing. I've got the feeling if they wanted, they could really hurt me."

Snape didn't answer at first. His eyes went cold and hard, his face blank. He stared into space as though his mind were miles away. Finally, he stood. "Frost, Professor Lupin won't be available for your DADA instruction this afternoon. It's a full moon. However, Swanson and I have agreed to trade off substituting. I'm on duty today and I warn you now. Without being abusive, I can be quite the bad cop. I suggest you steel yourself, and get as much rest as you can during your free period. You're going to need it."

"Um…yes, sir."

"And one more thing. Did you or Miss Glazkov have any other interesting adventures last night? Perhaps a frightening visitor?"

Finola's jaw dropped. "How—did you read my mind?"

"Give me some credit, Frost. I've been teaching since you were barely a twinkle in your parents' eyes. I don't need Legillimency to guess everything."

Finola nodded. _Note to self. If this guy is supposed to be your de facto dad,_ never _lie to him, or even think about it._ She explained about the scarlet creature. "It was like the night we delivered Professor Lupin's Wolfsbane," she finished, "except there was a voice."

Snape paced the room, forehead a snarl of deep lines. "What sort of voice? Male, female?"

"Kind of—vapory. Like the Grey Lady, only more—solid. I couldn't tell what gender. It sounded kind of like those voice distortion devices, the kind you'd use if you wanted to call someone and not have them recognize you. My dad gets distorted calls entered into evidence all the time."

Snape nodded. "And what did it say?"

Finola repeated the creature's dialogue. "It sounded kind, but threatening at the same time."

Snape's face went crimson. He cursed and knocked a pile of books and papers from the desk before turning. "I didn't mean to scare you," he said in an almost conciliatory tone. "I simply cannot believe…Dumbledore, that doddering old…I _told_ him…"

"Sir?"

Snape plopped into his desk chair—or as close to plopping as a dignified professor got, anyway. His cane smacked the walnut desk and fell in front of Finola, its serpent head gleaming and seemingly smirking at her. "What you encountered," her professor began, "is an Umbra. They are creatures at the disposal of our new enemy, the Oculus Vermiculo."

"Umbra—Latin for shadow?" Finola asked. "And Oculus—monocle, binocular—eye."

"Someone's been studying her Latin." Snape's lips quirked up. "Yes on both counts. The English translation for our enemy organization is Crimson Eye."

"But what does an Umbra do, exactly? And what was it—what are they—after that they think I have?" A memory shot through her brain. "That vial, the one you put the Wolfsbane in."

Snape sighed. "You're a little too smart for your own good, Frost. You're right about the vial. But here is your next lesson as a Gifted witch. You can't expect your mentors to feed you information. If you're really hungry, feed yourself—and don't bite off more than you can chew."

"In other words, go researching, but don't dig too deep?"

"Right again. Take another ten points for Ravenclaw."

 _Library, Morning Break_

"An Umbra?" Brenna shuddered. "I've heard of those. They're related to the Irish banshee, and they're bad news."

"Do Umbras foretell death?" Lily asked, paging frantically through a tome on _The Undead, Their Ways, and Their Rights._

"Don't know. But it's said they mark their victims for hell. Not that I believe it for a minute," Brenna added. "If Finola's not going to Heaven, there's no hope for the rest of us."

"I second that," Anya spoke up.

Finola gave her Slytherin friend a joking elbow in the ribs. "Shut up. I'm no more worthy of Heaven than anyone else…but whatever an Umbra is, I bet it's straight from Satan." She flipped her own book to the index. "Ah, here we go. Umbra…see "Wraith," see "Banshee"…okay. Hmmm. Shoot. Just basic paragraphs of what we already knew."

"I've got something," Lily announced a little later. "It's not much, but it's new. 'The Umbra feeds on heat, particularly the body heat of victims. It traces location through body heat, sloughing skin cells, and undetectable human scent, using these to mark victims, similar in fashion to a wraith. Marked victims fall seriously ill in a matter of hours or days.'"

Finola shuddered. "Creepy. Does it say anything else?"

"Just that no such creature has been seen since around 1692."

"The Salem Witch Trials," Finola guessed. "So they aren't native to the U.K.?"

"No," Lily confirmed. "It says here they can be found anywhere but are primarily—oh." She gave Finola a worried look. "Umbras are primarily American. People use the ancient Latin name, or sometimes they call them the Red Death."

"So you're saying…" Finola gulped. "That _thing_ followed me here? No, couldn't be. I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"Not if your magic was suppressed." Lily pointed to a couple sentences in another book. "Umbras only seek out people with magic."

"That's just great," Finola said. "An Umbra must've come after Snape and me that night. But he acted like he knew what it was and what it wanted. So that means…" Nausea twisted her stomach. "Could he have known the whole time? Lured me into…and then protected himself…" She couldn't speak anymore. "Dear Lord. I have been so stupid. He switched sides once, why not again?"

"You don't know that," Anya comforted. "Think of Harry Potter. If Snape were covering his motives, he'd want you to stay away, treat him as an enemy. He's been doing the opposite."

"Unless it's a case of 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,'" Brenna pointed out. "Unless, Fin, did Snape ever spend time in America? Was he hot for your mum?"

"Gross!" Finola exclaimed, earning a warning "shush" from Madame Pince. "No way," she said more quietly. "But if I'm wrong about Snape…that's too awful even to imagine. If I'm wrong—I'm just a kid. I barely know how to use magic, and he's this super-wizard who can read minds. He could legitimately, literally kill me."

"He probably would've done it already," Brenna pointed out. "We need to be sure, though. We've got to figure out who he's working for, what they know, and how they're gonna use it. And we need more information on the Umbras and Crimson Eye."

"You mean, spy on the toughest teacher in school? Bren, that's impossible," Lily challenged. "Snape knows where everyone is, everywhere, every minute."

"Not if we stay a step ahead," Brenna said. "Snape's not omnipotent."

"But to pull that off, we'd need—" Finola trailed off. "Of course!"

"The Marauder's Map," all four girls whispered.

"Brilliant!" Anya exclaimed. "If we had the Map, we could get all the information we needed, from anywhere."

"I'm sure I could track it down," Lily volunteered. "Hufflepuffs are particularly good finders."

"And it would be easy for me to spy on Snape, since I'm in Slytherin," Anya put in. "Or I could distract him—pepper him with Potions questions." She giggled. "Once you get him talking about ancient vs. modern medicinal compounds, he never shuts up."

"Good plan," Brenna agreed. "Finola, you're the bookworm. Still up for a jaunt into the Restricted Section?"

Finola thought it over. "My heart says sure, but my head—it's so risky, Bren. All of this. We could all get in major trouble. Besides, you know me. I can't lie. If Snape, or Swanson, or anyone, suspects and asks me, I'd have to tell the truth. I give myself away too easily."

"Then don't lie," Brenna suggested. "Ask Swanson for a note. She'll be a lot easier than Snape, and she's your real Head of House. If she says no, ask Madame Pince."

"Straight out?"

"Why not? She actually likes you. Who keeps giving you book recommendations, huh?" Brenna gave Finola a light punch in the arm. "I bet she says yes. And, I bet if you were real nice, she wouldn't have to say anything. She'd just look the other way."

"Even if she did, there's still the spiritual implication," Finola cautioned.

"What do you mean?" Lily gave her a compassionate look. "Finola, we're all Christians here. We know you don't lose salvation for breaking school rules—at least, I think we all know." Her look turned searching. "Is that what you're scared of?"

"No. If that were true, there'd be no hope for anyone," Finola said. "But—it's complicated." She massaged her temples.

"Think of it like this," Brenna began. "It's against God, what these people are doing, whoever they are. If Snape's with them, we owe it to Hogwarts to beat him at his own game. If he's not, we've got a powerful ally. And either way, we've got the information we need. If we wait for the teachers to spill, it may be too late."

Finola absorbed this. "All right. I'll do it. But not by myself."

"Of course not," Brenna said. "We'll team up. Lily, once you find the Map, keep it on you. No one's going to suspect an innocent, straight-O Hufflepuff. Take it with you if you and Finola have to go to the Restricted Section. That way, you can get out of danger fast if you have to. Meanwhile, Anya and I are on Snape Patrol."

"How does that work?" Anya asked.

"You're the inside track. Learn whatever you don't know of Snape's schedule. If he's in-house, you snoop. If not, I'll snoop. We may be able to meet up after Potions and search the classroom."

"Gosh, it all sounds so adventurous," Lily commented.

"Wicked," Brenna added.

"We could get killed. Or worse, expelled," Finola warned.

Anya shivered, but smiled. "I'm sure we'll be fine. We all have clean records. Besides, who would suspect anyone who's friends with Finola Frost, Hogwarts' own angel?"

"Okay, just for that, I am so in," Finola said. "Operation Arctic Tern is a go."

"Operation what?" asked Anya.

"Operation Arctic Tern. When the characters on one of my favorite shows go on missions, they use operation code names. Arctic Tern—because Umbras respond to heat, so we have to freeze their agenda. And because we'll have to fly like crazy to keep from getting caught."

"Frost, you're bloody brilliant," Lily complimented. "But if we're going to do this, we do it right. We need a good name. Like—the Marauderesses?"

"That's a mouthful," Anya said. "The Hogwarts Queens?"

Finola shook her head. "Reminds me too much of what Muggles call mean girls—queen bees."

"Good point," Anya agreed. "Perhaps an anagram." She pointed to herself. "A…" She pointed to the others. "L, F, B—ugh. That spells FLAB."

"The Fabulous Four?" Brenna offered, then frowned. "How corny."

"Wait," Finola took out her Dicta-Quill. "Let's go back to the anagram thing. Anya, what's your middle name?"

"Demetria."

"Mine's Odessa," Lily said.

"Elizabeth," Brenna finished.

"I'm Jane—no, that doesn't fit. Hmmm. F, A, B, L, E, O…what if we added our House initials?" Finola wrote R, G, H, and S under her previous work.

"Fabraleos…ugh. Try Heads of House, last initials," Brenna suggested.

"Okay." Finola added S, S, L, M on another line. "Let's see…" She wrote a few nonsense combinations, crossed them out, and started again. The other girls did the same, until Lily jumped from her chair. "I've got it!"

"SHHHHH!" Madame Pince exclaimed.

"Sorry! I mean, sorry." Lily leaned forward and wrote with a flourish. "We are the Formidables!"


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

 **A/N: Hat tip to** _ **The Network**_ **and the incomparable Howard Beale.**

 _Great Hall, Afternoon_

Monica Swanson glanced at the Ravenclaw table, sent up a prayer of thanks, and focused on her colleague. "I tell you Severus, you're some kind of miracle worker."

"Hmmm?" Severus paused with a forkful of Cobb salad halfway to his mouth. "How's that?"

Monica nodded toward Finola Frost. "Look at her. She's still skinny, but not emaciated. There's color in her cheeks. And she's sitting up straight, having a conversation with one of my ravens." She gestured toward the slight, dark-skinned girl.

"Ah, yes. That's Miss—Wicklow, yes?" Severus chuckled. "One of the only Ravenclaws who doesn't fall all over herself to answer every question."

"Cora Wicklow. She's Muggle-born too, and smart as a whip," Monica confirmed.

"Not uncommon, among Ravens. I've found the majority to be know-it-alls."

Monica shook her head at Severus' biting assessment, but kept her patient smile intact. After all, the guy spent years working as a double agent. Teaching kids how to crush valerian root, stir shrinking solution three times counterclockwise, and the like had to be a real step down. Still…

"They're just kids, Severus, and believe it or not, most of them aren't here to get on your last nerve. They want to learn, and they're excited about magic. Sometimes they get carried away, that's all."

"And the result can be serious injury, even death."

Monica nibbled a croissant and probed her colleague with a look. "Sometimes I forget. You've seen that stuff up close and personal."

"Precisely. You get sloppy, you get hurt."

"Point taken. But Voldemort's gone for good this time. Our kids are safer than they've ever been…" She trailed off. "Well, we hope."

"Hope frightens me, and it should frighten you."

Monica put down her fork and gave in to the urge to cover Severus' hand with hers. Pleasant coolness zipped through her system, but she didn't lace her fingers into his palm. _Remember who he is, Swanson. He's changing, but that doesn't mean much. It can't._

"The circumstances frighten me," she agreed now. "The Oculus Vermiculo is nothing to mess with, and I believe they'll get inside Hogwarts if Dumbledore's not a lot more careful than he has been. But hope never frightens me. Hope is our best chance. Hope says, 'Good will win.' Hope doesn't disappoint or fail."

Severus stared her down then. "Yes, it does. A rainbows-and-unicorns outlook fails every time."

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the real stuff. Stuff that says even if today, or tomorrow, or the next seven years suck, we can keep going because we know who we are and where we belong in the world."

He quirked a brow. "Are you sure you aren't a Christian, too?" He nodded toward Finola.

Monica fluttered her fingers in a so-so gesture. "I never made it official if that's what you mean. I've spent some time in the Bible Belt, but the wizards I've been around maintain that Jesus and wizardry don't mix, which in the sense of Dark Arts and religious magic, they don't. I struggle with the idea of giving up one to embrace the other. But sure. I'd like to believe God loves me, would die for me. I'd like to think somebody's up there watching over me. Wouldn't you?"

"Me?" He laughed. "If anyone of any persuasion is watching me up there, I am in serious trouble. The only god I ever heard of was a vengeful, cosmic Auror who considered me no better than a demon. Even a second chance can't change who I am and where I'm going."

"Anybody can change where they're going," Monica insisted. "I don't know about the eternity side of it, but I think as long as you've got breath, you have infinite chances to choose right." She looked at her student, the one she'd soon welcome home. "You and I committed to take care of that little girl, and she believes a clean heart, Heaven, all that, is open for the asking. Maybe we should learn together."

"Perhaps we should. Is your house ready for her to return tomorrow?"

"Yup." Monica grimaced at the House point goblets. "You'll notice we're in a distant fourth. I tool fifty points each from every witch involved in the bullying. Thalia Harrington, Madison Primminger, and anyone who runs with them are under restraint spells, and there are heavy, permanent protection spells on Finola's property, room, and familiar. For instance, "Alohomora" now only works if said in her voice."

Severus nodded. "Excellent. But what about the students who saw the bullying, yet did nothing?"

"I've got a House meeting scheduled for this evening. I'm gonna make it clear there is no such thing as an innocent bystander. I'm also going to clear up some misconceptions regarding Finola's disability and Muggle-born status."

"Add her faith," Severus advised. "I myself am still dealing with misconceptions on that score, but children won't have my restraint. I've heard rumors, even from other Slytherins, that Frost hates us all and is biding her time to take down Hogwarts and all it stands for."

"What a load of hippogriff hockey," Monica scoffed. "But I may let Finola answer questions about faith. It'll boost her confidence." She chuckled as she watched her colleague drain his water glass and crunch ice between his teeth. "Hey, that was your third glass. Are you okay?"

Severus reached for the water pitcher with one hand and rubbed the back of his neck with the other. "Blasted sore throat. It's been nagging me since morning class."

"Uh-oh. Okay, spill. Who was it, and what did you say?"

"That dunderheaded Billingsley from Hufflepuff. I merely told him to stop waving his wand around before he took someone's eye out."

Monica gave her colleague the "cut the bull" look her mom always gave her when she was hiding the whole truth. "And?"

"I—might have implied he is the stupidest Muggle-born I ever had the misfortune to teach, and—that if his brains were electricity, they couldn't power a penlight."

"Ouch. Seriously, Severus, you don't have to be Mr. Rogers or anything, but those kids can't learn if they know their teacher thinks they're scum."

"I didn't say scum."

"You don't have to. Come on, you were a kid once. What if a teacher or other adult had talked to you like that?"

"I'd have taken it and done better next time. I did, for years. I'm alive."

"And how many kids are you currently teaching out of your own brokenness? You're still bleeding, yet you continue to swallow glass."

Severus slammed his hand on the table. "What do you expect me to do, shower praise and candy for each correct answer? Tell my students it's acceptable to fail? Make a mockery of my subject and classroom?"

"No, because you'd suck at that," Monica challenged. "Just level with them. Make it clear you won't take crap, because crap leads to injury, death, and a whole lot of stuff you don't have time to handle. But at the same time say, 'I know Potions doesn't come easily to everybody. I'd rather you ask for my help than put yourself or your classmates in a bad spot.' And make it easy to ask, instead of acting like it's a crime not to know the answer."

He sighed. "If you're right—and I'm not saying for one moment you are—I wouldn't know where to start."

Monica nodded toward Finola again. "Then start off easy. Pretend every student is Finola. Somebody who wants to do well and messes up only because she can't help it. Who has proven herself respectful and willing to take criticism—if said the right way. Sort of like pretending your audience is in their underwear. Except, your audience is a bunch of hazel-eyed dynamos who, if pushed, will pull a wand and land you both in deep trouble."

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

Monica flashed him a wicked grin. "Nope. You got yourself Frosted, buddy."

"Is that what they're saying now?"

"You bet. There's a crazy story floating around Ravenclaw that Finola is related to Queen Elsa, and that her accidental magic manifests as ice powers."

Severus guffawed, nearly choking on his ice water. "I can just see her freezing the entire Black Lake."

"Can't you? That'd be a kick, if she had the confidence to do it. Speaking of, you're manning her DADA lesson today. Is she going to knock on my Tower door and tell me you made her cry?"

"No. Never again. But…" He shook his head. "Lupin's gone too easy on her in a way. He's stuck straight to the curriculum, so that she's used defensive spells only on say, a representation of a Dark creature, or Lupin himself. Those are safe targets, too safe. I thought for today, we'd put the wand away and go back to basics. Posture. Eye contact. The ability to use an authoritative voice to say, as you would put it, 'I'm not taking your crap.' The assurance that with faculty clearance, a good old Expelliarmus never hurt anybody."

Monica gave him a thumbs-up. "I like it. But how are you gonna get her to raise her voice, if you're the only one she's ever done it with and you can no longer use your—eh, colorful descriptors as incentive?"

"That is a conundrum. Perhaps there's a Bible verse she can use?"

"Nothing that I know of. King David gets pretty mad at his enemies in the Psalms, but he outright asks God for their deaths. Finola won't do it. If anything, I think she uses Scripture as an excuse not to claim ground. I hear from Lucy Pevensie they're working on it, but in the meantime…" She chuckled. "I've got an idea. You ever see _The Network?"_

 _DADA Classroom_

"You can put your wand away. You just need yourself today."

"Okay." Finola obeyed. "Are we just doing a sort of quiz? Which defensive spell for which situation, that kind of thing?"

Snape smiled. "No, because you'd get an O. I'm not going nearly that easy on you. No book work today, but we're going back to basics. First, get out from behind that desk. I want you front and center, and stand straight. I realize your condition affects that, but give me the best posture you have."

Finola crossed to the center of the room, imagining her uniform as dress blues and channeling the posture of a heroine she was reading about, who disguised herself to fight for the Union in the Civil War. "How's this?"

"Good. Now, I'm going to use my wand to play some audio from one of our previous classes. While I'm doing so, I expect you to make eye contact with me and keep it, no matter what you hear. Shall we?"

Finola nodded and locked her eyes on her professor's. He waved his wand, and the playback began. But the moment Snape raised his voice, Finola felt herself cringe.

"Stop." Snape spoke an incantation to turn off the audio. "You broke contact. Five points from Ravenclaw. Now, watch me." He turned the audio on again. "This is you. This is what I, and others, see." He hunched his shoulders as if trying to draw as far inward as possible, eyes glued to the floor. He twisted his hands, hovering them over a nearby desk as if looking for anything to grab like a lifeline. Finola wasn't sure whether to laugh or groan.

"I don't look like that, do I?"

"Yes, you do. And it looks helpless. It says, 'I'm a victim.' And I know that's the last thing you want." He took a breath. "Frost, you are smart enough to understand, aren't you, that when a teacher scolds or yells at a class, it's not directed at you?"

"Of course. I honestly don't know why I do that."

"Hmmm. Tell me something." Snape gave her his tell-the-truth-or-I'll-find-out look. "Not counting your experiences at Hogwarts, have you been verbally abused? Has anyone ever hit you, more than just a smack on the bottom, or been physical in any way?"

"Not my family," Finola rushed to say. "Never them. But…" Fear clutched at her throat and chest. "I—do I have to say names?"

Snape massaged his forehead. "If it helps you tell the truth, no. Not now. Who? That teacher you mentioned, from Muggle school?"

"Yeah. She—said things. She yelled, but not at the whole class like you do. Not because people were doing things that were dumb and dangerous. It was just me, because I was there, I guess. Because I was—me. She didn't want me in her class."

Snape's eyes flashed fire, but when he turned them on Finola, they were calm and serious, probing. "Well, Frost, I can assure you of one thing. Every professor in this school— _every single one—_ wants you here. So do the majority of the students, although most have been completely ignorant in how to express that. Hogwarts is safe, as are you. But to feel safe, you must embrace that truth, and it begins now. Let's try that eye contact exercise again. Remember, dropping contact is minus five points."

Finola made it through the second try without dropping eye contact, but it took all her restraint and energy. When Snape finally turned off the audio, she indulged in a deep exhale.

"Keep breathing," Snape coached. "We are far from finished here. I have forty-five minutes and I intend to use them. Let's move on. Professor Swanson has graciously provided me with audio from Harrington, Primminger, et. al. Without dropping eye contact or cringing, I want you to listen. Then ask yourself, 'Is this acceptable? Do I deserve to be talked to or about this way? Does anyone? Would I put up with this if one of my friends or classmates were the target?'"

Snape might as well have asked her to perform Avada Kedavara on a kitten. The only thing that kept Finola's pose confident was her teacher's presence, and the knowledge that he expected her to mess up. The audio filled the DADA classroom like noxious gas.

" _You're not equal to anyone."_

" _You're here because of pity."_

" _Retarded mudblood."_

" _Cripple."_

" _Snape was right; you're a filthy liar."_

" _No!"_ A scream interrupted the audio. It took Finola a minute to realize the scream was hers. But once it ripped out, she kept going. "This is my school, darn it! I belong here and I'm sick of…sick of…" She locked her arms over her body, shivering so hard her teeth clacked.

"I can't," she admitted. "Professor Snape, you can take Ravenclaw down to zero and into the negatives if you like. I can't stand up to that."

"Funny," Snape said with a sardonic look. "You just did. Now…" He opened a window. "Come over here. We have one more thing to do today."

Finola followed and took a gulp of autumn air. "Thanks, I needed that."

"I'm sure you did, but right now, focus on what just happened. How were you feeling? What happens inside you when you hear those things?"

"How was I feeling?" Finola echoed. "How can you ask that? Helpless, dirty, scared, objectified…and _angry_. Angry that I can't do anything to stop it. Angry that I know those things aren't true, but they feel true."

"Good answer. I want you to push the anger to the forefront and focus on it. Allow it in. Push past all the Bible verses, all the excuses you've given yourself about your tormentors being hurting souls, all the fear that standing up for yourself will land you with the punishment. Just let yourself get angry." Snape gently turned her from the window so they faced each other. "Close your eyes. Breathe. Focus."

Finola closed her eyes, but without vision, she wobbled. Snape steadied her with a hand against the small of her back. Meanwhile, Finola sorted through her memories. The first day in Potions. The day Snape made Brenna cry. The night in the common room when Thalia Harrington confronted her. The morning she woke up in the hospital wing, knowing who put her there. A hard, cold lump settled in her chest. Her entire body stiffened, and her pulse raced.

"I think I've got it," she whispered.

"I think you do, too." Snape's voice sounded a million miles away. "All right, open your eyes." He turned her toward the window again. "I want you to give voice to it. Make it permanent. Stick your head out that window and yell, 'I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!'"

Finola nodded. "I'm…wait. I can't say that."

"Yes, you can," Snape contradicted. "You want to. You need to. If your God wants to blame someone, let him blame me. Go on."

"I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore."

"No, no. You're quoting me. Give me vim. Do it again."

"I'm as mad as…hell, and I'm not…going to take this anymore!"

"Good grief, Frost. Is there a baby on the Quidditch pitch? Are you trying not to wake it?"

Finola inhaled. "Fine. I'm as mad as _hell, and I'm not going to_ take this anymore!"

"That sounds like someone who'd take it," Snape scolded. "Go on! If you disrupt something or someone, who cares. They need to hear it; they're overdue! I want you to walk out of here needing Madame Pomfrey's lozenges, blast it!"

Finola gripped the sill, closed her eyes again, and drew up the worst memory she had. _Oh God, help…no. Not anymore._

" _I'm mad as_ _ **HELL,**_ _and I'm NOT going to take this anymore!"_

Snape clapped once, hard. "Finally, we're getting somewhere. Do you have anything else to say?"

"Oh, you bet I do. I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore! I am a person—a smart, focused, valuable person, and you bunch of harpies are just jealous! I earned my place here and you're done ruining it! I'd like to see one of you, just one, put up with my life and not go crying to your mamas! You don't want me sitting in your class and learning with you? Eating your food? Walking down your halls and sleeping in your dorm? Well, that's too blasted bad! I'm _mad as hell, and I'm not taking this anymore!"_

The classroom door burst open. Finola turned just in time to see four professors, plus a gaggle of students, crowd the space. Professor McGonagall took the lead.

"Miss Frost! What on earth…Professor Snape? What in the name of Merlin is going on in here? Professor Longbottom heard the commotion all the way to the greenhouses and rushed up here, thinking someone was being tortured."

Snape shook his head. "No torture, Minerva. Just your basic Defense lesson."

Lupin fiddled with his cardigan sleeve. "I don't remember that in the curriculum."

"Well, perhaps it should be. Students who can't defend themselves stand no chance against external or internal enemies. Now, if you'll all excuse us?"

"Severus," McGonagall gasped. "This is highly irregular, it's disruptive, it's…"

"It's life, Minerva. And in case it's escaped your notice, life has the capacity to make you as mad as hell." Snape crossed the room, gave the entire crowd a stare-down, and firmly closed the door.

"Now Miss Frost, where were we?"

"Um…" Finola cleared an aching throat. "I think we were at the part where the whole school bursts in and we get busted. I can't believe that just happened. How could I…"

"Frost, if you apologize, you'll end up serving a month of detention."

"No, no—it's, uh…that was…I don't know what that was. But Professor? What am I going to do—later? I can't just scream at Thalia until she disappears, not that I want to."

Snape nodded and gestured for Finola to sit at a desk. She nearly collapsed into the chair, and Snape transfigured a textbook into a glass. "Augamenti." He aimed the tip of his wand at the glass until it was filled to the brim. "All right. Drink, slowly. Listen."

"You're asking me how to bring the emotion of the last few minutes under control," Snape said while Finola concentrated on not gulping the entire glass. "Controlling emotion is actually quite like potions. As you know, one mistake ruins the entire cauldron's worth."

Finola traced her finger across the rim of the glass. "Why do I get the idea I've made a lot of mistakes?"

"Because you have. Thus far, you've been tamping all your ingredients down to the point they're ineffective. You didn't ask for help because to do so was weakness. You hide your intelligence in class because others have said you aren't worthy to claim it. Instead of true, balanced mercy, you use a sugarcoated version that tells the world you're fine with being stepped on. And though you'd deny it even under Veritaserum, you have a potent dose of anger in that cauldron."

"Yes, sir. I realize now I do."

"Hmmm. And every time someone like Thalia Harrington bullies you, all those tightly controlled ingredients get stirred far too fast, under too much heat. Here's a basic Potions question, Frost. What happens when you put tightly packed ingredients under a lot of pressure in a short amount of time?"

Finola bit her lip. "Your cauldron explodes."

"Indeed. So, in order to let the anger and heat come back under control, you must let the other ingredients breathe. In other words, if Harrington asks, yet again, what witch you are to think you can take her Gifted spot, don't argue with her. Stop trying to convince her you're equals, or she should be nice to you, or any of that. Shut the conversation down."

Finola thought this over. "You mean, say something like, 'I'm not here to take anything except what I've earned,' or, 'I'm not the witch who's going to steal your spot. I'm the one who's going to win it.'"

"Precisely. You can also say something like, 'Believe what you want to believe.' This puts the burden back on the aggressor and makes her look like the fool, while also giving you an out. Notice that you didn't have to yell, curse, or use your wand. Basically, what you're doing is reminding yourself you are innocent, worthy, and the bigger person."

Finola nodded. "I hope it works."

"I think you stand a good chance. And remember, Frost, the prefects and professors are here to help. It is never sinful to speak up when you're in danger. And as you'll find in our next lesson, no one ever died from being disarmed."

"Yeah, but did they ever die of embarrassment? Because I'd stake my Potions grade on the fact that Billingsley or somebody has smartphone footage of me screaming myself silly back there."

Snape groaned and pushed himself upward. "And that," he announced, "is where I get in some practice controlling my anger around silly technology. Run along—I believe Professor Longbottom is expecting you. And do try not to frighten the plants."

 _Castle Grounds, After Classes_

"If I hadn't heard it from your own lips Finola, I'd swear you were lying." Lily hooked her arm through her friend's elbow. "I can't believe Snape was actually helpful."

"I can't believe she raised her voice above a library tone," Anya said. "We're certainly going to miss you around Slytherin House. Elinor will be crushed that she doesn't get to teach you a few good hexes."

"Who needs Elinor when I know a bunch of them?" Brenna asked. "Look Fin, that keep-it-cool double agent stuff might work for a while, but seriously, just say the word. Give me a name, and whoever it is, they end up with a roaring case of cystic acne."

"How about we discuss this later?" Finola asked. "I'm dying to know how Operation Arctic Tern Phase One is going. Lily, did you find the—uh, the thing?"

Lily shook her head, French braid swinging. "Not yet. I've searched all the secret passages and haunts I know of, but nothing. I've even searched the greenhouses during private Herbology lessons, when Professor Longbottom wasn't looking. Maybe we should drop some hints to Professor Lupin. He's a former Marauder. Maybe he'll slip up and give us a clue."

"Too bad we can't go into Hogsmeade until third year," Brenna said. "Then we could go to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and ask the twins about the map. They used it a lot. They might know where it got to."

"I could brew some Polyjuice so we look like third years," Anya suggested. "Snape says I'm more than ready to learn something like that. And besides, brewing potions keeps me from thinking of…" She trailed off. Finola squeezed her shoulder.

"Thinking of what?" Lily asked.

"N-nothing, I'm just…homesick. I can search the Slytherin common room for the map if you like. It would be a perfect hiding place, considering how cunning the Marauders were."

"We'll all search our common rooms," Finola agreed. "We don't have a month to wait for the polyjuice to be ready, but we may have to use it as a last resort. Anya, could you get your hands on a ready-made supply, maybe from one of the older kids?"

"I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, I did find out a little something about Snape." Anya gestured to a secluded copse of trees.

"What did you find?" Brenna whispered when they were all seated with their heads together. "Secret documents? Correspondence with Azkaban prisoners?"

Anya laughed. "You've watched too many Muggle movies. All right, so this morning, I had a private Potions lesson, and Snape kept looking at the clock. He never does that, not when he's working with an advanced student. Well, we got our cauldrons brewing, and he said, 'Glazkov, I'll return momentarily. I'm out of dittany. Use this time to study.' And he left."

"But you didn't," Finola guessed.

"No. I snooped. I went into the Potions storage room. The dittany supply was low, but not that low. I didn't know what I was looking for, until I saw it." She took out her wand and spoke the photographic evidence spell. The picture that came up was of the vial.

"Whoa," Brenna exclaimed. "What's he doing teaching if he's got that thing? It's probably worth more than he makes in two terms."

"I know, and that's not all. I know where the vial comes from. It was Papa's, and Grandpapa's before that. It's a Glazkov heirloom. Papa's a Potions master. He must've given it to Snape to keep it safe from You-Know-Who," Anya predicted. She summed up her family history but, Finola noticed, left out any mention of the curse. Finola had to bite her tongue hard to keep from urging her to spill. Instead, she shook her head.

"But why is a regular old Potions teacher carrying wolfsbane for a colleague around in a Glazkov family heirloom? Well, okay, Snape's not a regular old teacher, but you get it. And why the heck would he trust me with it that night the Umbra attacked us? Me, the handicapped kid who wins the Potions booby prize? Ow!" she exclaimed when Brenna shot off a spell that shocked her like static electricity.

"You think you're mad as hell?" Brenna snapped. "I make hell look like a skating rink. If you don't get words like that out of your head, I'm gonna…I'm gonna transfigure every book and Kindle file you own into gobbledygook."

"Okay, I promise, I'll work on it. Gosh, you're worse than Snape—which, again, what the heck is he doing…"

"Shhhh!" Lily cautioned. She gestured for the others to tiptoe to the edge of the copse, and pointed. "The blackbird is flying as we speak."

Indeed, Professor Snape was striding across the grounds, expression blank, in all his obsidian-cloaked glory, toward the Whomping Willow. By unspoken agreement, the Gifted witches gave him a head start. Anya raised her wand and cast a quieting spell.

 _Whomping Willow Hideout_

"Lupin?" Severus banged on the door and called again when he received no answer.

"It's open. Come on in," Nymphadora called back.

Severus pushed open the door and bent in deference to the ridiculously low ceiling. As he feared, Nymphadora Tonks Lupin sat on the lumpy facsimile of a sofa, not much more than a bunch of pillows and old blankets, next to her snoring husband.

"Tonks, how many times have I told you, I wish you wouldn't…"

"Unca Sevi!" The excited exclamation preceded little blue-haired Teddy Lupin, running into the room like a hurricane and knocking directly into Severus' knees. He had to laugh. As much as he told himself children Teddy's age were trouble—they were loud, always a mess, and couldn't so much as use the loo on their own—Teddy Lupin and other kids of his acquaintance had healed his heart some after the war. The fact that any child, let alone a nemesis' boy, would treat him with any affection was a miracle of, well, Christ-like magnitude.

He scooped Teddy into his arms. "Ah! You're becoming quite the handful. It'd be easier to lift a solid gold cauldron. What has my favorite little future Slytherin been up to today?"

The little tyke shook his head so hard it was a blue blur. "Not Sly-rin, Unca Sevi. I'm gonna be Gryff-a-dor like Daddy. Rawr!" He imitated a lion, sinking grasping little fingers into Severus' neck.

"Heaven forbid," Severus muttered, prying his fingers loose. "Can you use that big roar to wake Daddy for me? I have a delivery, and then I have to go back to school."

"No need. Daddy's awake," Lupin groaned. "Honestly, Severus, his eyes are turning green."

"Well, if you ask me, you're both shameless," Tonks scolded. "It'd serve you both right if he got Hufflepuff—if the house system is even in place within eight or nine years." She reached for Teddy. "Come to Mama, little man. Why don't you go and draw us all a picture?"

"'Kay. I'll draw the Gif-witches."

"The who?" Severus' chest locked.

"He means Gifted witches," Lupin said with a slight groan. "I can't keep a curious child from seeing the _Daily Prophet._ "

"You might try harder," Severus groused. "And how many times must I tell you? Tonks and Teddy aren't safe up here, daylight or otherwise, especially now."

Tonks had the grace to blush, but accepted Severus' challenge. "Remus is gone more than home these days. I'm not going to tell my kid no when he wants to go see Daddy. And I thought Dumbledore strengthened the wards since the Umbra attack?"

"He did, but it's a temporary patch until the Christmas holidays. In the meantime…" Severus took the phial of wolfsbane from his pocket. "I thought you were going to work up protection spells for this thing? Monica can't do it; she has enough on her plate."

"Monica now, is she?" Lupin waggled his brows. "Monica, not 'that flighty milksop Swanson' or 'Swanson, the rainbows-and-unicorns…'"

"Shut up. She and I have enough trouble, worrying one or both of us will blow our cover. And you, Wolf, are not helping."

"I know Severus, and I apologize. The last several moons have been particularly…"

Severus swore, low enough that Teddy wouldn't overhear and insist he put a Knut in the Bad Word Jar. At this rate, the kid could probably buy himself a Firebolt.

"If we don't protect this thing, and the elements in it, with all the magic we've got," he hissed, "the Oculus Vermiculo will swoop down like the vultures they are and use it for their own diabolical means. Do I have to remind you what that would end in? Forced blood purification? The attempt to turn you, Lupin, into a hairy, fanged automaton? Not to mention, Teddy could get snatched."

He gentled his tone when the Lupins went pale. "I'm trying to believe we'll be fine. With Glazkov and Corrigan's prowess in Herbology and Potions, we could replicate what we need, or at least isolate the virus. Kettleburn's already working on advanced transfiguration; perhaps Minerva can teach her versions of changeling gifts that could help us all. And the way the Frost girl battles the Dark Arts…"

"Yeah, Remus said he heard that battling firsthand," Tonks deadpanned. "But do you truly think they can do it, Severus? Keep Hogwarts' light going and keep the Oculus Vermiculo from using those elements as deadly medicine?"

"They are the warrior maidens of the prophecy," Lupin spoke up. "Except perhaps Finola. Trelawney's grandmother did say there was a red herring…"

"Trelawney and all her kin are blasted frauds," Severus barked. "This isn't about prophecy. It's about protecting the people I couldn't last time. The ones I didn't bother to save. Lupin, if you're with me, you'll take your potion, and next full moon, you'll show up and claim it yourself—in a transfigured vessel."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12:

"What does Snape mean, blow their cover?" Brenna hissed from just outside the Whomping Willow.

"Shhh, they'll hear us," Lily warned. "And would you get your elbow out of my gut?"

"Sorry."

"And what about the Glazkov girl?" Snape sounded on the verge of losing patience. "If the curse held, we have a little more than a week. What are your plans?"

"You're her head of house," Lupin fired back. "Why aren't you working on this—unless you plan to expose and ruin an innocent child?"

"How dare you."

"I dare because you did it once and would again. I don't care what spell Dumbledore has you under, you are incapable of treating anyone decently. My first priority right now is keeping my job, and keeping you from ruining my life and anyone else's."

"You exposed yourself, so spare me the self-righteousness. And remember, I am well aware of what Edgecombe promised you. Don't tell me you haven't thought of taking him up on it."

"That's it!" Nymphadora Tonks shouted. "Get out, Severus!"

The girls scattered, barely in time to conceal themselves before the hideout door slammed open and Snape marched back toward the castle. Once he was well out of sight, Brenna laser-focused on Anya.

"Ann, what were they talking about, exposing you? Are you…how could you keep something like that from us?"

"She didn't," Finola rushed to say. "She isn't. Not yet."

"Finola, shut up," Anya snapped.

"You told her?" Brenna groaned. "Typical sneaky, backbiting—"

"Enough!" Though she spoke in a harsh whisper, Lily's voice was cutting enough to fell the trees that sheltered the Formidables. Her gaze burned through her three friends.

"Enough of all of this," she continued. "Enough with house prejudice, secrets, and assumptions. If we don't stick together, it means we let the Oculus Vermiculo win. It doesn't matter who Anya told first or what she's got to say, we're going to listen. Anya, what's going on? If you tell us, we can only help."

Anya nodded. "I only told Finola because there was no way not to," she began. "We were roommates in Slytherin, remember? I had a nightmare, and she was there for me. There's something I haven't told you about my family—and Voldemort." As her friends listened, she spilled every detail.

"Whoa. But Fin, why didn't you tell us?" Brenna asked.

"Maybe it's good that she didn't," Lily pointed out. "It shows she can keep a secret when she needs to—like we all can." She gave Brenna a meaningful look, and the other girl nodded.

"You're safe with us, Ann," she said. "Besides, we've got until the twenty-first. Oh!" She slapped a hand against her robe. "Is that what Snape meant about isolating a virus? Is the enemy planning to use the curse against you?"

"Professor Snape says that's part of their plan, but not all," Anya confirmed. "I've gotten permission to use some of our private lessons to work on a cure for the lycanthropy curse. But so far, nothing. I've only been able to isolate DNA and separate partial components of wolfsbane. There's a genetic mutation somewhere, interacting with a cursed gene, and somehow, the wolfsbane gets diluted."

"And it would be dangerous to try mixing wolfsbane with experimental ingredients," Lily added. "Not to mention, isolating every component of the other ingredients would take forever."

"And that's not even considering what the Oculus Vermiculo wants to do to me." Anya shuddered. "I hear they can mix unadulterated aconite with a cursed person's blood and create some kind of biological…"

"Are we still here?" Brenna whispered to Finola.

Finola rubbed her temple. "We are, but maybe we shouldn't be."

"Oh, dear." Lily glanced at Brenna and Finola. "We got carried away. The Oculus Vermiculo does want to use Voldemort's curse against Anya. It sounds like they think she's a biological weapon."

Finola held her wand in a stranglehold. The thought of anyone using her friend, or any innocent person, as nothing more than an automaton, a means to an end, sent red-hot fury coursing through her. _Tamp it down…let the other stuff breathe._ And the first thing to let breathe was the brain that had always been her biggest weapon. Time to get smart, and get going. She stood.

"Well, there's only one thing to do," she said. "Professor Swanson's welcoming me back to Ravenclaw tonight. She'll be in a good mood. Perfect time to ask for a note for the Restricted Section."

 _Slytherin Foyer_

"You didn't think we'd let you leave without saying goodbye." Elinor Smythe stood with Anya, along with a few other Slytherin girls, in the foyer. Most were older, but Finola recognized first-year Claudine Dubois-Black among them.

"Never," Finola assured her Prefect. "I'm just packing. And even if I can't visit, we'll see each other often."

"You know it," Claudine confirmed. "We all got together—some of the boys, too. Once a serpent, always a serpent, so if you need anything, come to one of us." She handed Finola a list. "Names, years, just the basics."

Finola swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. "Thanks. I'm sure some of the other Ravenclaws will return the favor, like Cora Wicklow. And…" She reached into the bag that held her last few books. "The day my parents were here, we shopped in Diagon Alley and Muggle London. I got these for the house, as a thank you." She held up the sapphire and emerald afghan first. "For whenever the common room gets chilly."

Anya fingered the afghan, eyes going soft. "Oh, my. How luxurious. Cashmere?"

"Not that expensive," Finola laughed. "But it's a well-made blend. And…" She presented her second gift. "It's not much, just a collection of short stories for the common room bookcase. Next to Ravenclaw, yours is a little—"

"Bare?" Claudine filled in. "I noticed." She took the book and flipped through it. "Oh, wow—Bradbury? O'Connor? This is the good stuff."

Finola blushed. "Um, they're all—Muggle. I'm still learning my way around wizarding material."

"No problem." Elinor put her arm around Finola. "We're far more hospitable to Muggle-borns than we used to be. Let's face it, without you lot, we'd never have discovered the thermos, the cellular phone, or the rubber duck."

The group cracked up then, until Anya inclined her head toward the common room. "What do you say, Finola? One last game of Exploding Snap, for the road?"

Finola patted her robes' pocket. "Um, you guys go on, I'll catch up. I have one more gift to drop off."

Anya nodded. "Don't worry. You did fine."

Finola headed toward Professor Snape's office. As usual, the door remained ajar, but close enough to closed that she knocked.

"Enter!"

Finola found her temporary head of house bent over grading. "Professor, may I have a minute?"

"Ah, Frost. Of course. Though, if you're here about your Potions essay, I remind you—first years are graded last, no exceptions. And trying to peek at my desk counts as snooping."

"Yes—I mean, no. I'm not here about grades. I wanted to—well, here you go." She set the sample vial on his desk. "I got Anya to help me. It's—the cure for boils potion I never finished that first day. I wanted to say…"

"I'm sure there are several things you would like to say," Snape filled in. His voice remained neutral, but his eyes softened. "However, brevity is the soul of wit."

"Right. Well, some of the girls are expecting me for Exploding Snap. I should go."

"Frost?"

"Yes?"

"You have learned far more in my house than in my classroom. Keep that knowledge close. We'll be getting your friends together soon to discuss what you're dealing with, and while schoolgirl bullying has been nipped in the bud, I fear your trials are only beginning."

 _Ravenclaw Tower, Early Evening_

"Is she here yet?"

"No—wait. Yeah, that's her, hobbling along like usual. She makes me sick."

"Shut it, Madison," Thalia Harrington mumbled. "That whole thing with her mangy cat was your stupid idea. I could've lost my spot at Hogwarts for good."

"Oh, get off your high horse. They expelled my sister because of that mudblood, remember?"

Thalia jabbed her wand at Madison's chest. "Unless you want a Bat Bogey Hex for the next week, take that back."

Madison backed off, hands up. "Okay, okay. It just galls me, that's all. You're the Gifted witch, not that retard. Anybody who can't see it is willfully blind. You get straight O's and she can't even brew a potion without Snape over her shoulder. You're twenty times prettier than her, and the prophecy even says she's not of our world, with her Bible and her…"

"I get it," Thalia said. A smirk inched across her face. "Believe me, I've heard it for two weeks. But we showed our cards too soon. We should back off her. No more funny stuff."

"What?" Madison squawked. "You mean let her think…"

"Right. Let her think she's accepted, safe. That we learned our lesson like good little sinners." Thalia's mind went back to her family's advice, and that of their dearest friend. "She still deserves to be punished, and she knows it deep down. We'll just let the Gifted test finish her off."

"But what if it doesn't?"

Thalia chortled deep in her throat. "Then we turn her over to the Oculus Vermiculo." She edged her robe sleeve up, showing off the gold, ruby-and-jasper studded bangle Mum gave her during her suspension. "I hear the Umbras are hungry for a harvest."

Madison laughed. "Oh—I think she just knocked. Let's get out of here. Knowing Frost, she'll run tattling to Snape or Swanson if we breathe the same air as her."

 _Library, Next Morning, Early_

"Be careful around my books," Madame Pince cautioned. "You're the only one I'd allow this sort of travesty for."

Monica Swanson raised her cup of coffee with the reinforced lid toward the reference desk. "I solemnly swear I won't spill a drop, Irma. Oh—did that book about prophesied mages of faith come in from Ilvermorny yet?"

"Not yet. Patience, Monica. But Miss Frost returned the book Lupin loaned her on a similar topic, and he put it in the prophecy section. He figured everyone should have a look."

"Okay, thanks." Monica retrieved the book, sipping her coffee as she walked toward her favorite little nook at the back of the mezzanine. A far cry from her usual salted caramel mocha latte with a double espresso shot, but she had to give it to those House Elves. They made a smooth, chocolatey mocha almost beyond compare.

She stopped short a few feet from her favorite chair, trepidation and anticipation mixing in her chest. "Oh. Hey, Severus."

"Hay is for horses, Miss Swanson."

She chuckled. "Okay. Good morning. Hello. I didn't expect to see anyone in my corner, but I'm glad it's you. Better?"

"Indeed." He closed a hardback over his thumb and tapped the chair next to him. "So, you needed a break from the Great Hall's clamor as well?"

"Yeah, I like to come up here at least one morning a week and snag some me time. Go over last-minute lesson changes in my head. Journal about what I'm reading." She pulled a slim volume from her pocket. "But mostly think."

Severus' mouth turned down. "And here I interrupted you. My apologies."

"Apologies are for transgressions, Mr. Snape," Monica scolded in an imitation of her colleague's standard answer. "And this is a public nook. It's cool." She settled back in the chair. "I'm glad I bumped into you. I wanted to thank you for helping bring Finola home."

He nodded. "Fortunately, the upheaval doesn't seem to affect her academic performance, although I'm still concerned for her social health."

"Cut her some slack," Monica recommended. "She seems friendly with Cora Wicklow, and if you add the other three, that's a pretty big group for her. Hogsmeade wasn't built in a day. And cut yourself some slack, too. She's improving, and that's what matters. You've been good to her, to all of them. I've seen some students file out of your class lately. They look a lot more relaxed than usual."

"Your advice did help," Severus informed her. He lapsed into silence, and they each read a bit, until he spoke again. "The truth is, I never sought to be a professor. I'm not good at it, and the attitude of the average student tests me beyond belief. I only took the position to repay a debt to Dumbledore, and as far as he's concerned, I still have millions of galleons in my column."

"Well, that's wrong," Monica declared. "I don't know if forgiveness really extends to seventy times seven, but nobody should be allowed to hold things over another person's head like that." She swallowed a needle of conviction along with her coffee. Better to focus on where she could help. "But you _are_ a good teacher, when you relax. Aren't there moments when you enjoy it, at least a little?"

He read a page or two. "I suppose. Mostly with students like Glazkov and my seventh year NEWT candidates, because they love Potions for its own sake. And, well…yesterday, something happened I didn't expect. I criticized a third year Gryffindor's shrinking solution, and rather than sulk like a toddler, he simply started again. I was walking by the table when he got it right. The expression…" He smiled.

"See? You're more teacher than you think," Monica encouraged. "You're talking about the lightbulb moment, that precious second when they 'get it.' When it happens in Charms I always think, 'Wow. They have confidence and knowledge now, and I got to help.'"

"No one's ever accused me of helping facilitate anything. It would be a nice change."

"You're getting there. Just don't give up." Monica drank some more coffee. "How are you, really? I know it can't be easy, controlling your emotions and watching everything you say."

"Spare me your pity," he snapped.

Monica shook her head. "You're the last guy I'd ever feel sorry for. This is empathy, Severus." She sighed. "In all those years of atoning for Lily, protecting Harry, playing double agent, when did you take care of you?"

"War doesn't afford that luxury." His tone remained cold. "That's why I'm here." He tilted his book so she could see the cover. "I'm learning why Miss Frost likes to read so much. Books expect nothing. They don't talk back, or judge your actions. They only invite you in."

" _The Hound of the Baskervilles,"_ Monica read. "I always liked that one. Are you pretending to be Sherlock for the moment?"

"Perhaps. I like the challenge of thinking how I might approach such a mystery if I didn't have Legillimency as an advantage."

"I bet you could solve it faster than he could," Monica predicted.

Severus stuck a bookmark between a couple pages. "I already have; I read it often. For now though, I'll leave Sherlock and Watson to Muggle London and take some fresh air before heading to class."

"Mind if I come? I could show you some of my favorite parts of the Hogwarts campus, and then we could catch the tail end of breakfast. I hear the House Elves save the freshest and gooiest doughnuts for those who wait."

"Oh, good grief." Severus rolled his eyes. "Cardiac arrest on a plate. And…" His nose twitched. "What in the name of all four founders are you drinking?"

Monica shot him a saucy grin. "Hot mocha with espresso, double shot."

"Merlin save us. How do you stay so slim, and keep from spending every day in the Hospital Wing after crashing from a sugar high?"

"Hey listen, Mr. Nuts-and-Seeds, I'm more balanced than you think. I just know how to have fun with food. And to answer you, I've got a theory. If you eat what you want along with what you need, your body responds with endorphins. Endorphins make you happy, which burns off calories and increases energy. Maybe if you popped a little more chocolate, the kids wouldn't think you were such a Tartar."

"I am a Tartar, Miss Swanson, and I'll thank you not to let on any different."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Monica took out her wand, charming her cup full. "Go on, try it. It's fresh; you're not drinking after me."

"I shouldn't have to prove anything…"

"You don't. Just humor me. Honestly, men are such idiots."

"Well, for the sake of men everywhere who are not idiots." Severus accepted her beverage. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

"Hmmm—oh. Oh, dear. It's—delicious."

"Oh!" Monica clapped like a delighted child. "Then let's head down to the kitchens and get another one."

"Not so fast, young lady," Severus teased. "Let's offset those calories with a brisk walk, shall we?"

 _Castle Grounds_

"I've still got a hawk eye on Harrington and the rest, but from what I've seen, Finola's finally coming out of her shell." Monica turned the corner near a bright yellow poplar. "Last night, I saw her put her book away and approach a couple of older kids playing wizard's chess. She said she was learning, so could she play the winner?" Monica grinned. "I wanted to jump up and cheer right there."

"Ah? And how did she do?"

"Wizard's chess is still pretty visual, so she lost. But Sarah Norberg—that's the third year she was competing against. She gave Finola a few tips, and ordered the pieces to shut up so she could think. Sarah said they could have a rematch any time." She stopped at a flaming scarlet maple near the Owlery. "Oh, this is my favorite tree. I love watching the mail owls fly off to deliver messages."

Severus grinned. "You love birds in general, I bet."

"Well, I am a Ravenclaw—Horned Serpent in the U.S. But yeah, I always loved birds. I love what they symbolize—hope, freedom. And if they come back to a nest, it's because they choose to. They live life on their own terms."

"I never considered that, but I suppose they do," Severus agreed. "Did you ever have an owl as a pet?"

Heaviness settled in Monica's chest. "No. We were—comfortable, but we never had much for extras like pets. I spent a lot of time at Ilvermorny's aviary my first couple of years, but then…" She inhaled, the sound ragged, sharp. "My parents were—killed. I graduated three years late because I dropped out to raise my little sisters."

"What happened?"

"I—nothing you haven't heard a million times. Voldemort's influence could be felt even in the U.S. I'm sure you've figured it out, but I'm a blood traitor."

"I never noticed."

Monica opened her mouth, a joke or sarcastic retort at the ready. Yet it died as her mind registered what her heart didn't dare to feel. Severus Snape had reached for and was holding her hand—fingers laced.

"How could you not…"

"I choose not to notice. It's over. If blood can rip us apart at this point, our entire realm will crumble for good."

Monica turned to him, blinking hard. "I won't let it. Not this time."

"I know you won't." They squeezed hands. Monica shuddered.

"Are you all right?"

"Oh—it's chilly out here, that's all."

"Even with that hot coffee?" Severus teased.

"It's gone lukewarm."

Severus nodded. "Come, let's get you inside before you catch a chill and the students lose their favorite Charms professor." Severus opened his cloak, offered Monica some. Monica started to draw away, but something in her heart squeezed. She smiled, stepped under the cloak, and walked back side by side with her colleague.

"Professors," one of the House Elves, Norie, greeted them. "Shall I be making yous a warm drink?"

"Sure." Monica held up her coffee cup. "Make it two." She saluted Severus with another lift of the vessel. "Here's to a safe Hogwarts."

Once Severus had a hot mug in his hands, in record time, he lifted it to meet hers. "I will gladly drink to that. And—to Frost's return to her real house. May Hogwarts truly begin to feel like home."

"I'll drink to that."

 _Ravenclaw Common Room, That Evening_

"How did I miss that you're a Christian, too?" Finola asked Cora. "You'd think around here we'd be easy to spot."

Cora shrugged. "That's my fault. I should've said something to those, those…" She nodded toward Thalia and Madison, who were shamelessly flirting with some second- and third-year guys on a nearby sofa. "I was afraid if I did, they'd start on me." She gestured to her arm. "I'm so dark, some people back home—they called me a gorilla."

Finola's mouth dropped open. "That's horrible!" She glanced around the common room and sighed. "Kids bullying each other, the way I clashed with Snape at first—I guess I thought magic meant those ordinary problems didn't exist. It seems like everywhere, somebody's always getting bullied about something."

Cora nodded. "I was the only one of my siblings to show magic. My parents are cool with it, but our extended family went bonkers. Our pastor tried to perform an exorcism."

"So what'd you do?"

Cora laughed. "Told him I couldn't help it and there had to be some divine reason, or else I'd have killed him on the spot with magic, without meaning it. Then I kicked him in the shins. I got grounded for a week."

"Still, that was courageous of you," Finola said. "Wait—you're a Muggle-born, too, right? Then you could be the fourth Gifted."

"No," Cora corrected. "The prophecy specifically mentions 'a maiden from over sea, once our country's enemy, now an ally.' That's gotta be America, because of the revolution. And I'd a hundred times rather see you the Gifted witch than that bubbleheaded clever clogs over there."

"I have got to find this prophecy," Finola declared.

"Good luck. Anything like that would be in the…"

"Restricted Section," the girls finished. Cora sat forward. "I've been there once."

"What? When?"

"When you had pneumonia," Cora explained, "and the House was buzzing about Snape getting you moved to Slytherin for good. I wanted to be your friend, so I promised myself if he let you come back, I'd stand up for you. So one day in Potions when you were absent, I asked him for a note."

"And you lived to tell about it?"

Cora pursed her lips. "Well, sorta. He basically told me he'd give me a note when Hades froze over and to double-check my infusion of wormwood before I cost Ravenclaw like, sixty house points. The prefect for the boys, Chip Laughlin? He overheard, and he said he'd help. He forged Snape's signature,. If Thalia Harrington hurts anyone, she's gonna find herself with a pig's tail—the Dudley Dursley special."

Finola didn't know whether to comment on her new friend's flagrant rule-breaking, commend her courage again, ask herself what kind of school she'd landed in—for the hundredth time—or pump for information. She chose the last option. "How did you find what you were looking for? I mean, let's say you didn't have permission and needed to get out fast."

Cora got up and moved toward an empty table, quill in hand. "How about I walk you through it? I can draw, like, landmarks so you won't get lost in the shelves."

Finola puckered her brow. "Can you keep the instructions written? I can't visually follow diagrams."

"Right, got it. I'll even use that Invisible Ink charm Swanson taught us last week."

Several moments later, both girls were bent over a navigation guide, whispering, when Professor Swanson sauntered by, skirt swishing. "Is Herbology homework that intriguing, ladies?"

"Um, we'll get back to it," Finola promised. "But Professor?" She glanced around, loathe to mention her request in a public space. "Could I see you in your office for a minute?"

"Sure, hon. Cora, if those names of plant diseases are still tripping you up, try the second shelf on the bookcase at the far wall. I think there's a guide there that puts them in plain English."

 _Ravenclaw Office_

"What can I do for you? Are you settling back in okay?"

Finola nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for not letting everyone be, you know, nicey-nice."

"My pleasure. You'll find the more open and honest you are, the less mysterious you'll seem and the more people will understand you're more like them than different. And for those with thick skulls…"

"I know, don't be afraid to speak up. Professor Snape kinda drilled that into me. He also said things are gonna get harder from here. I want to know what he meant. So—I'm asking you to give me permission to go into the Restricted Section of the library."

"Hmmm." Professor Swanson tapped her quill against her desk. "What kind of information do you want that you can't get from sanctioned material?"

"I want to know what the Oculus Vermiculo's up to. I don't know about you, but if Snape and McGonagall and the others haven't changed much since Harry Potter's time, they won't tell my friends and I anything until we're right in the thick of it. We might get our butts kicked, and isn't that what they want? I want to know who they are and who they might have recruited here. And people keep talking about this prophecy. I need to know for sure if I have any chance of being the real Gifted witch, or if it's like when God's plan isn't what you want and you just have to go along."

Professor Swanson absorbed this, fiddled with a few papers. "As far as the Oculus Vermiculo goes, I definitely don't want you to know more than we as adults will share—and we _will,_ Finola."

"Then what are you waiting for, the Umbras to try to burn the school down?"

"No, and watch that tone, young lady. If you want information, here's a bit. I came here to teach Charms yes, and out of personal desire to experience Hogwarts and the U.K. But I, as well as a couple Ilvermorny staff members and Hogwarts professors, are actively working to bring this organization down. Because of the Umbras, human activity is difficult and dangerous to track. It's best that we shoot when we know what we're aiming at."

Finola nodded, thinking through her next question. She decided to press her luck. "So, does Professor Snape work with you? I mean, he was a double agent before, so…"

Professor Swanson shook her head. "You and I both know Professor Snape operates on a need-to-know basis. But I'm pretty sure that gray cloak of his is a few shades lighter than it used to be."

"Okay, I…" Finola trailed off, catching a quirk in her Head of House's smile, a twinkle in her eye. "Wait. A. Minute. Are you—is he…are you two…"

"Put the brakes on, Miss Matchmaker. _No._ The only thing we've got in common right now is a precocious little first-year, initials F.F."

"Okay, okay. So—about that note?"

Professor Swanson sighed. "Let me talk to Professor Snape so we can make a united decision—one I expect you to honor."

Finola sighed. "He'll just say no. Or more accurately, no to the power of ten and get out of here before I throw a jar of cockroaches at you."

"Then that's something you and the roaches will have to live with." Professor Swanson's mom voice was on point. She softened, drawing Finola into a professional but warm hug. "You're a kid learning magic. Have fun with it. Take some time to get your feet back under you in Ravenclaw before heading out on adventures of Potter proportions, okay?"

Finola nodded, then shook her head. "I'll do my best. But I can't really promise."

"Well, unlike Professor Snape, I tend to grade on the curve. For now though, it's curfew for first years and I'm sure you don't want to miss a minute of reading time before lights-out."

"Okay. Good night."

"Good night. I'll be along shortly to see everyone's tucked in."

 _Great Hall, A Few Afternoons Later_

"That might be what Swanson thinks, but I know better," Brenna said around a mouthful of BLT. "I saw her come into the Great Hall with Snape the other morning, and they were _sharing his cloak._ I couldn't get close enough to hear, but it sounded like they were talking to each other, not at each other."

Finola shrugged. "Probably about lesson plans or something. I hope so, anyway. I've seen them whispering and darting looks over at me." She finished off her nutrition potion with a grimace.

"Come on, Fin," Brenna laughed. "When teachers talk about their students, do they smile like this?" She softened her eyes and let a beam slip across her lips. "And I swear, Snape was practically making goo-goo eyes at Swanson."

Finola laughed so hard pumpkin juice squirted out of her nose. She slapped a napkin against her face and gasped out,

"You are—insane!"

"Mental," Lily supplied the British term, since Finola was trying to use those more.

"Okay, you're mental, and insane. Professor Snape and goo-goo eyes do not belong in the same thought. Besides…" She sobered. "He adored Lily Potter, even after she was married and had a kid. She was his true love. You don't get over true love."

"But maybe there's more than one true love for everyone," Lily opined. "Second chances. And Lily would want Professor Snape to be happy, even without her." She put her hand over her heart. "Maybe Lily's orchestrating it all somehow."

"All right, can we deal with the mushy stuff later? Some of us are trying to keep our breakfast down," Brenna half-teased. "Lil, any luck with the—the thing?"

Lily's expression hardened into worry. "There's one more place in the castle to look, but I don't dare go alone. Filch's office. That was its last known location before Harry Potter took it right before the war. Maybe someone put it back."

"Well, don't expect me to go near the place. I want nothing to do with that shackle-obsessed demon." Anya shuddered, and Finola recalled how Filch wanted her chained in the dungeon if she transformed.

"I've already served a detention this week for pranking the grump," Brenna said. "So that leaves…"

"Me." Finola nodded. "I'll have to be careful. I've already asked Professor Swanson about the Restricted Section, and I can't afford to let anyone think I'm stirring up trouble." She explained the professor's reaction. "But Lily's right, she needs a lookout. Hmmm—ah! Of course. Mrs. Norris."

"What about her?" Lily asked.

Finola winked. "She's our way in. While you're searching the office, I'll try to make friends with her. Even in the Muggle world, I always had an affinity for cats. I once did this summer thing where a group of kids read to animals at a shelter. There was a black cat, kind of like Norris, who would calm down when he heard my voice."

"Brilliant!" Brenna high-fived her friend. "When do we do it?"

"I say the sooner the better," Finola answered. "Before I lose my nerve."

 _Filch's Office, Afternoon Break_

"Ready?" Lily whispered.

Finola palmed one of Nutmeg's favorite salmon treats. "Ready as I'll ever be. Good thing Meg seemed to understand when I said it was for a good cause. Remember the signal?" Finola whistled, imitating a canary.

"Right. Okay, coast is clear. Last I heard, Filch was cleaning the DADA classroom."

Finola made her move first, settling into a chair with a book several feet from where Mrs. Norris lay curled against Filch's door. She made eye contact with Finola and hissed.

"Easy, girl," Finola cooed. "Just studying."

She counted silently to 120 and edged her chair a little closer, treat in hand. "Having a nice afternoon, sweet lady? Catch any pesky mice?"

"Mrrow!"

"Oh. Slow day, I get it." She held her hand out. "Hungry?" _Come on, baby, come on…_

"Meow…" Mrs. Norris hissed again, but got up. After a few more painful seconds, she crept over to Finola and took the bait.

"Good girl." Finola made eye contact and gave the cat a slow blink. Mrs. Norris' next meow was a little softer, and she butted Finola's hand.

"Oh? Well, I just happen to have another one. Here you go." Finola signaled to Lily, who dashed across the floor, cast Alohomora, and disappeared into Filch's office. Meanwhile, Finola removed her spectacles, offering them for Norris to sniff.

"There. You aren't such a mean girl, are you? It's your master who's a tyrant. Would it be okay to pet you hello? Ooh—okay, not ready. I understand. Sometimes I don't like people much, either…" Footsteps echoed nearby, and Finola glued her eyes to her book. _Come on, Lily…_

"What exactly did she tell you?"

Finola froze. _Madison Primminger._ She straightened in her chair, as if she were back in DADA, facing down Snape. She wouldn't show fear. Not anymore. Instead, she turned a page, letting the book partially block her face.

"Those other Gifted goody-goodies will be there, too." Thalia Harrington's voice followed. "Their spots are secure, but I hear we'll all have to perform in each other's area of expertise, to prove we can. So I'd have to do DADA or Charms, but something else, too."

"Then you're golden. If Frost gets Potions or even Herbology, she'll fall apart at the seams."

"You know it. Even if not, Frost doesn't have the street smarts to fight. She'd rather sing hymns or something at an Umbra and pray it goes away."

"Tell me about it. What's her deal, anyway? I mean, what kind of stupid god kills himself just to save a retard like her?"

Finola sat forward, breathing as deeply as she could. _I'd give anything for Snape to be here right now!_ She could hex these two into oblivion, and the poor guy would probably die of shock. But Snape's words about emotions mixed with an old adage of Dad's. " _God doesn't need a defense attorney, Nola-girl."_ She nodded and went into prayer mode, still hiding behind the book.

"Hey, girls, what—oh, my day just got better. Look what's writhing on my hook. A bookworm." A Hufflepuff—Finola thought her name was Ismelda—pointed. "So Frost, you dare show your face in public without Snape and those snakes to protect you?"

"MRRRROW!" Mrs. Norris leapt into action before Finola could breathe, a furry ninja with salmon breath. The girls screamed.

"Don't worry, baby. Dada will punish those nasty little brats!"

 _Filch!_ Under cover of hurrying feet and scrabbling claws, Finola whistled for Lily. Her friend dashed out. "Colloportus," she commanded. She and Finola got out of the corridor mere seconds before Filch appeared.

"Did you get it?" Finola whispered.

Lily pulled her into a secluded alcove and reached into her pocket. "Voila! Third desk drawer from the left, under a whole pile of dungbombs. Let's get the others and see if it works. Brenna's on the Quidditch pitch; I'll find her. You get Anya and meet me in the kitchens. I think she's down in Potions, experimenting again."

"Okay. Why the kitchens?"

Lily winked. "Because if it works, we're gonna need to celebrate, which means snacks."

 _Kitchens_

The Formidables sat with the Marauder's Map closed on an empty table, Brenna positioned near the door as lookout.

"Here goes. Lily, lead us off," Finola offered.

Lily tapped her wand against the map, followed by Anya, Brenna, and finally, Finola. "We solemnly swear that we are up to no good," four voices intoned.

The map quivered, ink slowly forming. Finola's hand slapped her mouth, and she read in a breathy voice.

"Messrs. Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs wish to welcome Misses Kettleburn, Glazkov, Corrigan, and Frost to the Marauder's Map…and request that they use it well.' Wow."

"Fin?" Brenna gave her friend a concerned look. "You okay?"

Finola blinked. "Yeah. I…I just…it's real. All of this." She shook her head. "And I never understood until now how much I…I needed…" She shook her head, blinked again. "Sorry."

"Hey, we're not Snape," Lily said. "It's okay. I understand." Her voice grew thick. "I'm supposed to belong to this world more than anyone. I'm a pureblood witch, a legacy, named for Lily Potter. But I never—and then to be put in Hufflepuff, the house that just took the rest…I was ashamed, felt like I'd let the Corrigan name down. But then to know you. To know people who didn't care about the magic and just saw _me_." She sobbed. "It's so…"

"Brilliant." Even Brenna was losing her grip. "Mum and Dad almost didn't let me study here, did you know? They wanted me raised Muggle. It was only being a Gifted witch that changed their minds, but sometimes I think I can't…except when you three are here. You make me think I can do anything."

"Because it's true. It's…" Anya broke down, sobbing as if her heart were breaking and mending at once. "Thank you. Thank you, dear God. And thank you all."

The map quivered again.

 _Messrs. Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs join the Formidable Misses in their celebration and say you are quite welcome._


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

 **A/N: Thanks for being such good sports! This was a real struggle for me, as I needed to put together the prophecy and can't rhyme worth a darn. Read and review if so inclined, or just drop by to say you've checked in.**

 **Also, you will see a bit of poetic license in upcoming chapters. I'm choosing to give the magical world more leeway with time, so for instance,** _ **Hamilton**_ **and** _ **Frozen**_ **might have enjoyed an "early release." Or, maybe Finola's got a relative in the music/movie business…Anyway, stay tuned for more musical references, mystery, "medicine," and fun.**

"Mischief managed." Lily sniffled and slid the Map down into her sock. "Pockets are too obvious," she explained. "So…" She nodded toward a covered plate on the counter. "I told the House Elves we needed special fuel for a 'study session.' Shall we?"

Soon, the Formidables were tucking into mugs of hot cocoa and several varieties of sweets and savories, Muggle and Wizarding alike. Anya and Lily, as the two purebloods on the team, seemed utterly mystified more than once.

"What exactly are these again?" Anya held what looked like a purple, pearl-sheened jellybean between her fingers, up to the light.

"Black currant candy," Brenna supplied. "If it's purple, it's black currant. My second favorites, after sherbert lemons of course. I think it's a crime for Gryffindors not to like those things."

"Makes sense," Anya agreed. "Being Dumbledore's favorite and all."

Mention of the Headmaster made Finola's stomach clench for some reason. She nudged aside a miniature quiche and went for a crumpet instead. The plainer flavor seemed to calm her system, and she forced a lighthearted tone. "Well, I think the Wizarding World has me officially addicted to cauldron cakes. They taste like my Gramma Frost's double chocolate cake in a tiny package."

"Maybe, but you haven't lived until you've tried Molly Weasley's," Brenna said. "They're aces."

Finola gasped. "You know Molly Weasley?"

"Of course we do," Lily said. "Remember, you're in a different realm. We're totally nonfiction."

"Oi, wait a minute," Brenna cut in. "Do you suppose that means if Anya and Lily and I looked in the library, we'd find a book about Finola? Some sort of Muggle adventure story?"

"I doubt it," Lily mused. "Mam has studied a lot of the old magic. We're all real, but when you get into how fiction works—it's rather complicated. It has to do with time travel, and how people see what they want to see, and…well, a bunch of stuff."

Finola's brain clicked along at a hundred miles an hour while she chewed. "Time travel? Then if we wanted, could we go back in time and change things here? Make it so the Oculus Vermiculo doesn't exist? Even further—we could change the whole Harry Potter saga. You would not believe what goes on in the Muggle world, girls. There're all these theories about your world, what could've happened if James and Lily lived, or what really happened to some of the characters…"

"No!" Lily exclaimed. "Terrible things happen to witches who interfere with time, Fin."

"I've heard people get sent to Azkaban for that," Anya agreed. "Even Minister Granger-Weasley needed airtight permission to…"

"Okay, I get it." Finola painted on her Sunday school smile. "Just a—a thought." As she said it, another thought intervened, something nebulous and disconcerting. A vise tightened around her arm, and a voice hissed in her ear. _"Tartanox…criminalized mental institution for witches who don't know their place…"_

"Hogwarts calling Finola." Brenna snapped her fingers. "You there?"

"Yeah. Wow, I hope Swanson and Snape hurry with their decision about the Restricted Section. The more I know, the more I realize I don't know, and it—well, it intrigues me."

"You'd hardly be a Ravenclaw if it didn't," Lily said.

"Slytherclaw, perhaps?" Anya offered. "You are an honorary serpent, after all."

"Maybe," Finola conceded. Another memory shot concern through her. "Brenna? Did you work things out with your dad? I mean, is he still upset about you being friends with Anya, and my temporary transfer, and—well, everything?"

Brenna pursed her lips. "I'm not sure. I wrote home after the Howler, which he apologized for sending, and he knows you were in a tough spot, with the teachers telling you to switch houses. But he's afraid if I spend too much time around anybody who has an association with Slytherin, I'll end up pulled into the Dark Arts or something."

Anya fired off something that sounded suspiciously like a Romanian or Russian curse, then hung her head. "After all we've done to change our image—after what I've done. And it's October sixteenth. In five days, I could be…"

"Don't say it," Lily advised. "Sometimes if you say something, you jinx it. At least in the Wizarding World," she added with a glance at Finola.

"No jinx needed. It's already happening." Anya placed her hands in the center of the table. The other Formidables gasped or drew back. While her nails weren't grotesque, they had already grown well beyond normal, and were yellowing from inevitable contact with dirt, potions ingredients, and other toxins.

"Snape has me on an anti-keratin potion," Anya said, "but so far, it hasn't worked much. They are a bit shorter than this morning, but what if…" She broke off, groaned, and popped something in her mouth. A sausage roll, Finola noted with instant worry and compassion.

"Where—if you transform…" Lily began.

"The Chamber of Secrets," Anya revealed. "With the basilisk gone and Voldemort's traces cleared out, it's safe. I'd have plenty of…of room…" She broke off. "But the door will be locked tight and silencing spells put up. No one will know where I've gone—well, almost no one. You three won't be able to reach me. If it gets bad—I'm frightened."

"So am I," Brenna added. "Even as a Gryffindor Gifted, I don't think I signed up for this."

"None of us did," Finola agreed. "I think Somebody else signed us up." She gestured upward.

Lily nodded, but gave Finola an anxious look. "Will you help us? The three of us did a little talking while you were in Slytherin, and—yes, we're Christians, but we don't have quite the freedom to practice that you do." She shuddered. "Mam and Grandmamma are always in fights over religious things. Every time Mam brings up my spiritual gifts or faith in Christ, Grandmamma starts muttering the old Celtic spells and invoking spirits. Will you—teach us how to pray and trust like you do?"

Finola laughed, nerves gripping her. "I'm not exactly Reverend Mother from _The Sound of Music,_ here. I've been getting faith instruction from Lucy Pevensie, but no matter what she says, I'm scared to death that I'll do or say something at Hogwarts that gets me on God's bad side. Still…yes. If you want me to, I'll try."

"Starting now?" Brenna crossed herself.

"Of course." Finola closed her eyes. "Father, I'm here with Brenna, Lily, and Anya, and we're—well, scared and confused. Anya's been cursed by the Dark Arts and a wicked man who tried to destroy this whole realm. Lily's family sounds like they've got some serious spiritual warfare going on and Brenna and I, we're pulled between two worlds. Protect us. Show us what to do and when to do it. We…" She opened her eyes, placed her wand on the table, and nodded to the others to do the same.

"We dedicate our magic, our abilities, whatever we have, to you and your Kingdom, the ultimate side of good. May we be given not only the ability to unlock a door or brew a potion or handle a mandrake, but holy spiritual abilities we'll need. And may we use them well. Am…"

A crash cut Finola off. "Get out of my way, you stinking little…"

"Filch," Brenna muttered. "And only a few steps away." She grabbed her wand and waved it over the table, then their persons. "Evanesco! Evanesco quadrupla!"

Finola held her breath, even under the guise of the spell, partially out of anxiety and partially because Filch reeked. Mrs. Norris yowled and meowed near him.

"They're down here, I know it. The three Gifted and that little cripple."

"And?" Professor McGonagall sounded just this side of royally ticked. "They're on afternoon break, you blithering idiot. And I'll thank you not to slander any of our students."

"The Slytherin one's got dark magic, I can smell it."

"How you can smell anything other than your own stench is beyond my comprehension. Now unless you have something to…"

Something solid bumped Finola's leg. Solid, warm, and—purring? Finola tried to shoo Mrs. Norris away, but the feline refused to move. In fact, she jumped up onto Finola's leg and held on, as if she wanted to be in her lap. Finola held in a cry as the cat's claws dug in, not deeply but persistently.

"See there? One of them did something to my baby! I bet it was the serpent girl, or that redheaded chit who put the dungbomb in my office…"

"Miss Kettleburn has served her punishment for that," McGonagall cut him off. "As for the other three, I'm hardly going to punish them for improving the behavior of your cat. Come, I need you in Gryffindor Tower. One of the sixth-years defaced a painting for a prank."

Once their footsteps faded, Brenna undid the Evanesco spell and wiped a hand over her forehead. "That was close. Let's get out of here."

The Formidables hurried out of the kitchens, up the stairs, and stopped so abruptly they crashed into each other's backs. Professors Snape and Swanson, each holding a stack of books, were caught off balance and the books went flying. Snape's cane clattered to the floor.

"Great Merlin," Snape griped. "Will the four of you watch where you're going?"

"Sorry," Lily threw over her shoulder as the four girls scrambled to retrieve the books. "We were just…"

"I didn't ask for a commentary. Now, if you will kindly let us pass without maiming us further?" Snape stepped forward, but halted halfway through the motion with a murmured curse. Finola recognized the trouble from her own physical travails—Snape's bad leg had locked up on him.

Professor Swanson noticed too and steadied her colleague, handing over his cane. "Here you go. No harm, no foul, girls. Just slow down next time, huh? Oof!" She dropped a particularly large volume.

"Allow me." Snape took it and a couple others. "Go along, ladies. This is not the London Zoological Gardens."

Once the Formidables were safely in a west towers alcove, Finola turned to the others, biting back a giggle. "Did you see what I think I just saw?"

"Definitely," Lily said. "Snape carrying Swanson's books like some first year with a crush!"

"And Swanson, helping Snape like he's some ordinary bloke with a decent personality," Brenna added.

"Our next mission might be Operation Blackbird," Anya predicted. She bit her thumbnail absently, maybe trying to shorten it the old-fashioned way, Finola thought. "We'd have to be really brave to try to pull that off."

"Operation Blackbird? Get real," Brenna said. "How about Operation Get the Git a Girlfriend?"

"Gee, you think that might be a little too obvious?" Finola teased. "Seriously, they might get suspicious if we start forcing them to get together and stuff. I've seen _The Parent Trap_ and other movies like that. It's so cheesy."

"But maybe we could help out a little," Brenna prodded. "The Snake needs all the help he can get."

"Hey, lay off Snape, would you?" Anya spoke up. "He's a bit of a sergeant major, true, but you're the one giving him a hard time every Potions class we have with Gryffindor."

"Well, I don't blame you for that," Finola admitted. "He still gets to me sometimes. But why him, in particular? I've heard McGonagall ride you pretty hard over goofing off in class, and you let that go."

"Because he expects everyone to be perfect Potions Masters like him. And because he thinks, since he's some kind of big bad war hero, he can write and enforce the law. If you can't bend the rules, I say you don't need 'em."

"And how does that fit in with what we just prayed about?" Lily asked, real curiosity in her tone.

Brenna bit her lip. "Well, Jesus was the biggest rule-breaker Israel ever saw. I think He'd be on my side, even with pranking Filch. But I'll probably end up in confession over that, and sassing Snape—again." She sighed. "Being a Christian and a witch is a tough gig."

"Hey, we're all there with you," Finola said. "Maybe Operation Blackbird can take your mind off things."

Brenna shook her head. "I still like Operation Get the Git a Girlfriend."

 _Afternoon Classes_

"Remember, your essays on the benefits and drawbacks of animate transfigurations are due next week. Class dismissed," Professor McGonagall announced. "Oh—Miss Frost, a moment?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

Professor McGonagall smiled. "Your wand work is noticeably more fluid. Congratulations."

"Um, well, Professor Swanson said arm stretches might help some. Her class is still easier than yours, because charms are a little less specific, but I'm working on it."

"As you should, but don't forget to have some fun. As the school's Quidditch aficionado, I have the pleasure of telling you, Madame Hooch and Professor Swanson have finally worked out a way for you to take Flying without breaking your neck."

"Really? That's great! I mean, mostly great." Finola twisted her hands. "Flying scares me a little. A lot."

"Oh, that's nothing to be ashamed of. Most first-years feel that way, but how about we get you over it? I'm headed to the grounds anyway, so I'll come with you."

The trip to the grounds was at once quicker than Swanson's wand performing a simple charm and slower than a double Potions period. Finola's heart thrummed in her chest like a Scottish reel.

"Easy there, Frost," Madame Hooch encouraged. "Breathe. Let's start with what you already know. I want you to mount your broom, as you did in our first lesson."

"Okay." Finola approached the broom, steadying her breathing. "Up!" The wood hit her hand, and she climbed aboard. Instantly, her body relaxed. The broom didn't change shape, but she felt extra support, as if she were sitting in her favorite chair in the dorm. _Well, not nearly that soft._

"A Charm?" she guessed.

"Yes. It won't protect you from every fall, but it will give you some leverage. As you get comfortable, I'll show you how to turn the support up or down. And this broom has full Cushioning Charms, so if you were to have a mishap, you won't end up in the infirmary."

"Thank you."

Madame Hooch nodded. "I want you to hover. As you do, lean forward and in a confident voice, say _Vox._ This tells the broom to respond to your voice, not your hands, and takes dependence off hand-eye coordination."

"Thank goodness, because I don't have any," Finola felt comfortable enough to joke. She kicked off as she'd seen classmates do from the windows of the castle. "Vox!"

The broom handle glowed for a moment, and Madame Hooch chuckled. "Good! It registered. Let's try a quick flight. Lift off gently, sprint forward, circle the castle once, and come back to me. Tell the broom what to do. One word—sprint, circle, and the like—should do it."

Finola inhaled. "Here goes. Lift!" Her broom lifted completely off the ground, and she gasped from both delight and trepidation. But the broom held her in place, and she executed Madame's commands without feeling ready to panic. She hardly dared open her eyes at the broom's highest point, but one look at the cerulean sky and confidence zinged through her.

"Forward…down, gently…" She coached the broom in a whisper, until her feet hit terra firma. Madame Hooch clapped her on the shoulder.

"Good show, Miss Frost! Now, one last thing—something to help you feel comfortable with where you are in space and how high or deep you're actually going." She leaned over and tapped Finola's glasses with her wand. They became a bit larger, goggle-like. Everything was still as clear as if Finola was wearing her glasses, but those goggles were…humming?

"It's an audio sensor," Madame Hooch said of the soft, almost inaudible vibration. "If you reach height limit, that hum will become a chirp, and you'll start gently descending immediately—unless you tell the broom to stay up. The sensor also protects you from obstacles in the air."

"How does it do that? I wouldn't want to, you know, crash into a wall."

"I'll show you. I want you to fly toward the castle, and get as close as you can to that first window. If you get too close, the audio sensor will alert you, and the broom will redirect."

"Sort of like a GPS," Finola mused. "Um, Muggle thing," she added when her coach looked confused. She tried Madame Hooch's suggestion, edging as close as she dared. Sure enough, the audio sensor chirped at her, and the broom moved back on course.

"Wow!" Finola floated back to the ground. "Okay, so what about—I'd never do this, but suppose I had to fly through an impromptu Quidditch game or something? Or…" _Gulp._ "Can the Oculus Vermiculo fire bullets through the air at me?"

Madame Hooch frowned. "Wizards don't use guns, dear. And no, for that you'd need protection spells. But…" She raised her wand. "Accio Quidditch box."

The box of equipment floated from the edge of the courtyard, and Madame Hooch opened it. "No bludgers, since they're trained to hit you. But I am going to release the Quaffle and Snitch. I want you to fly around a bit. Don't think, just fly. When you see the obstacle, let the broom react. Don't panic."

Finola nodded and obeyed, trying to imagine perfect flying conditions. The courtyard was empty…it was just her and the broom… She leaned forward, grabbing onto an idea. "Come on girl, let's really conquer this thing. Sprint!"

The broom shot forward, and Finola dared arc up. A delighted laugh escaped, until something disrupted her vision. The Quaffle, coming straight at her.

"Left, now!" she ordered, but the broom was already redirecting. Finola exhaled and took a couple more laps. _I see why wizard kids love this! It's fun!_ She pushed the broom a little higher, until something glinted in her goggles. It moved closer, and Finola directed her broom down. "Down…gently…" she coached again, until she was safely on the ground.

She didn't realize what had happened until the strange weight in her hand registered. Madame Hooch looked like she'd just heard Professor Snape had smiled in class.

"Um…" Finola offered her hand. "Sorry, I guess you want your Snitch back."

"I know the broom and goggles aren't charmed to do that," Madame Hooch said. "How did you…"

"I'm—not sure. I didn't feel myself doing it. But in Quidditch, you're supposed to catch the Snitch, so I guess I saw the glint and just—did it."

"Hmmm." Madame took the Snitch and began boxing up the Quidditch equipment. "I think you'll catch up to your classmates in no time. Come down during a free period whenever you want to practice; there're always several students around, and generally at least one professor." She chuckled again. "Sometimes I think Professor McGonagall would rather referee Quidditch than teach." She raised a finger. "But just in case, no flying solo, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am. And thanks for the—oh." Finola cut herself off when an owl swooped toward her and landed at her feet, a letter in its beak. The deep blue envelope and Ravenclaw seal indicated it was from her House. Her heart kicked up again.

"Excuse me please, Madame. I've been expecting this note."

"Of course."

Finola secreted the letter in her robes, headed to the dorm, and knocked. The knocker smiled at her.

"Hello, Finola. What is a room no one can enter?"

"Hmmm. Ah…bedroom, bathroom—no…room, room—ah! A mushroom!"

"Correct. You may enter."

Finola locked herself in her room and tore open the letter. Snape and Swanson's handwriting and tone were distinguishable in the message.

 _Miss Frost,_

 _We cannot grant your request. However, we have asked Madame Pince to put a book we think you'll need on hold for you._

 _That being said, Miss Frost, your head may take you where your feet cannot. Do Ravenclaw and Slytherin proud. Use your brain._

 _Professors Swanson and Snape_

Finola absorbed the words. She could live with a partial "yes." But leaving herself at Madame Pince's discretion wouldn't answer all her questions. The thought of another Umbra attack, or having a person she trusted stab her in the back, made her ill. Figure it out—she bit her lip. Snape was telling her to get her information the moral way, but the Slytherin way. Well, that she could do. _I think._

 _Library, Evening_

"Here you are," Madame Pince announced. " _Prophecy, from the Powerful to the Pernicious._ I believe you want pages seventy-five through eighty-two. Let me check that out for you.".

Madame Pince handed over the prophecy volume, and Finola returned to her friends' table, carrying it with all the caution of a mother cradling a baby.

They waited until Madame Pince had busied herself with checking some books back in to flip open the prophecy book, page seventy-five. "Oh, wicked!" Brenna whispered. "Warrior Maidens of the Magical Realms—says here Trelawney's great-niece knew Hermione Granger was one, but discounted her worth because she disrespected Divination and walked out of Sybil Trelawney's class. Other witches have been called Warrior Maidens—among them, Luna Lovegood, Lily Evans, even Bathilda Bagshot. But 'Only when the Dark Lord dies and men cease to pontificate and plan, can four true witching warrior maidens show their true selves in a world of subterfuge.' I don't know what all that means, but it's us for sure."

"Maybe the end of the war?" Anya asked. "And men ceasing to pontificate—maybe it just means the males, like Harry Potter and Dumbledore and Snape, have been the main saviors thus far and now it's the females' turn."

"Right on." Lily beamed. "Let's see if it mentions our names." She scanned a page, turned one, flipped another. "Oh, my gosh. I think I found it! Look." She indicated what looked like a poem on page seventy-seven, halfway down.

 _Though Voldemort be vanquished, an enemy will lurk_

 _Lusting for supremacy, but with peculiar quirk_

 _Not seeking purity of blood, or help from a dark wraith_

 _But twisting all resources to destroy hope and faith_

 _Speaking peace and order, yet planning war and death_

 _Miracle cure and plague, all wrapped within a breath._

 _"Miracle cures?" Anya sat straighter. "Our enemy wants to cure people?"_

 _"Careful, Anya." Finola's heart rate kicked up. "Miracle cures and plague in the same breath—it sounds like they promise one thing, yet do another. They won't just march in and cast the Killing Curse. They'll try to convince everybody they want what's right, what's good."_

 _"But isn't that what Voldemort did?" Brenna asked. "He told people blood purity would keep them safe from Muggle persecution."_

 _Finola absorbed this, read the stanza again. "No. No, this feels different. 'Not seeking purity of blood'—hmmm. What comes next?"_

 _"There's a smudge here—Lumos maxima," Lily ordered her wand. "Drat—something's still blacked out. But I think you're right, Fin. Look."_

 _…Accepted, yet rejected, those who refuse shall pay_

 _Muggle, half-blood, pureblood, all called to rule the day_

 _Unity…those who…speaking hate…_

 _Clothed in royal red…chosen, yet detractors…left to fate._

 _"So they preach unity, but their own way," Brenna interpreted. "If you don't fall in line, if you hate them, then you're on their hit list?"_

 _"It sure seems that way." Finola shivered. She'd gotten straight A's in history, but most of what she knew best, she'd learned from Dad. He'd often discuss how history and the present tied together and affected people, usually when he was helping her with homework or they were driving back from a therapy session, enjoying treats from Starbucks or Cold Stone. "Don't be fooled, Nola-girl," he'd say. "Sometimes the people who seem the sweetest and kindest are pushing the worst agendas. And they'll push so slowly, so carefully, you may not realize you're being pushed."_

 _"Whoa, this is intense." Brenna's voice brought Finola back to Hogwarts and the present. "A lot of it's smudged out, but look at this part. 'Evil unleashed, hopelessness the victor/despite all cures, realms growing ever sicker'…something about blood and bone and—ugh, dead bodies, dead souls."_

 _"Dead souls?" Finola gulped. "Then could it be true what they say about Umbras marking victims for hell?" She leaned toward the page in front of her. "I don't see anything like that, but there must be something. Oh!" She pointed her wand. "Next stanza, right here. I think this is where we come in."_

 _The Formidables bent over the stanza—_

 _Young maidens, from realms magical and not_

 _Gifted in all that they may be taught_

 _The first, a daring witch of Ireland's shores_

 _Will bring worlds of two bloods to Scottish moors_

 _Who will call her first, or when, or which_

 _Shall be the greatest challenge for this witch_

 _The second, purest blood, house black and gold_

 _Heart and spirit warm as Dark Lord's cold_

 _Named for a hero's love whose time is past_

 _Her own choices will be the ones that last._

 _"Of course," Finola breathed. "Brenna, you're half-blood, and your mom and dad weren't sure how to raise you…and Lily, you're a legacy witch because of Lily Evans—a hero's love. But it says you have to make your own choices."_

 _"Easier than it sounds," Lily opined. "Are you next?"_

 _"No, Anya. See?"_

 _The third, from emerald house so long maligned_

 _Will in friends, love, and faith redemption find_

 _Death, darkness, and curses pulled her down_

 _But soon this maiden too shall wear her crown_

 _Anya positively glowed. "My family calls me Princess," she whispered. "Finola, go on. I'm sure your stanza is next."_

 _Finola forced her eyes down. What if the prophecy didn't speak of her at all, but Thalia Harrington? What if it said something horrible had to happen to Finola before Thalia could take her rightful place?_ _Shut up,_ _she scolded her mind._ _You've been reading too much wizarding fiction._

 _The fourth and final maiden, determined with a test_

 _Both candidates of Muggle blood, from royal blue's snug nest_

 _One whose flight is true, the next of body broken_

 _The fates remain unclear until their spirits both have spoken_

 _"That settles it, Fin," Brenna declared. "You're a shoo-in. Harrington's spirit has Dark Arts written all over it."_

 _Finola bit her lip. "There's another stanza. It's been smudged up too, but I see the part Cora was talking about, where one of us is foreign. That's me. It mentions my faith isn't of this world—well, you're all Christians too, but…"_

 _"But you're kind of a different breed," Lily said. "Go on."_

 _Finola nodded. "It doesn't say much after that. Only—oh, no. Look."_

 _The reckoning shall take place late, when summer's breeze blows in_

 _Both maidens fighting valiantly, but only one stands chosen_

 _"Wow." Lily spoke first. "So there's a test, but then some kind of battle in the summer? Do you think you and Thalia will have to duel?"_

 _"Probably," Finola guessed. "But if I know prophecy, it's sometimes not what it looks like. Everybody thought Jesus was gonna be this king, this military hero, and we know what happened." She scanned the page. "Wait. Look at that last couplet."_

 _Heartache and betrayal stand written on her page_

 _Her heart may yet fly free, or languish in a cage._

 _"What?" Brenna said it, but all the Formidables' faces asked it. Finola grabbed her emotions and forced them down._

 _"Probably a metaphor," she said. "The prophecy doesn't say whether Thalia or I will win. Maybe it means she will, and I'll have to let her, to protect my heart." Just saying it sent pain ricocheting through her. More possibilities attacked her brain._ _Betrayal—_ _did that mean one of her friends would betray her? Or worse…_

 _"I won't," she whispered fiercely._

 _"Won't what?" Lily looked down at the couplet. "Oh. Oh, no, Finola. You can't think you would…"_

 _"I don't know," she admitted. "I never will, if I can help it. But Judas Iscariot—and Peter betrayed Jesus, too. Peter, who loved Him so much." The thought of betraying her friends—or worse, light, and by extension, Christ—rendered her silent._

 _"You'll be okay," Brenna coached. "You aren't a traitor to us or anyone else."_

 _"Not now," Finola said. "But if somebody from the Oculus Vermiculo tried to convince me—ugh! I've got to know who I'm up against and what they might tell me to get me to do what they want."_

 _"We're on it," Anya said. "Brenna, distract Pince. Lily, do you have the—thing?"_

 _Lily reached into her sock and pulled out the Maruader's Map. "Always."_

 _"All right, watch it and make sure…"_

 _"No," Finola interrupted. "I've got a better idea. Snape and Swanson said not to go inside the Restricted Section, which I didn't. But they didn't say I couldn't use spells from a safe distance."_

 _Anya chuckled. "You might be more serpent than you think, my friend. But a simple Accio won't work. You use that when you know exactly what you're looking for."_

 _"No problem," Finola said. "Anybody got her Charms book?"_

 _"I do," Brenna said. She reached into her bag. "Lucky it was my last class today."_

 _Finola paged through the text, wand lit, fingers flying. "Bingo!_ _Qaero notitia._ _Seeking spell, often used by librarians and record-keepers in cross-referencing. Incantation, plus name of person, place, or thing…oh." She turned to Brenna, the Formidable with the deftest hand. "The wand movement is two X's in quick succession. Help?"_

 _"Sure." Finola checked to see Madame Pince was still busy with her nose in a book of her own and raised her arm. "_ _Qaero notitia Oculus Vermiculo,"_ _she intoned while Brenna guided her hand._

 _Only one book, a slim red volume, floated over. Its spine cracked, leather cover flaking like leprous skin, and pages hanging on for dear life, it looked like Sirius Black in Animagus form tried to eat it. Finola had to squint hard at the title._

 _"Salvation in Scarlet: My Story,"_ _she read. "Sounds like some kind of cheap romance novel." She checked the spine for an author's name but found none. Opening the book didn't yield much, either—most of the pages had deep smudges, some were blank, and some wouldn't turn. When Finola tried to force one to move, the book actually hissed and nipped her finger._

 _"Toto, I have a feeling I'm not in Muggle-Land anymore," she quipped._

 _"I thought your cat's name was Nutmeg?" Lily asked._

 _"Muggle thing. Tell you later. Okay, finally. 'I must close my story soon, but my trials will not be in vain. Order will be restored as it was meant to be, Muggles, half-bloods, and purebloods together, ridding the world of the real evil. Ultimate kindness and peace shall be ours…yadda yadda yadda…those of imperfect background need not fear, blah, blah, blah…here we go. 'Stand with us, Red Regals, ready when the final jewel enters the phial. Determine who will submit; show no mercy to detractors. Harvest the weak.'"_

 _"Yikes," Brenna said. "Sounds like Death Eater claptrap to me."_

 _"Except they say 'harvest,'" Finola pointed out. "Like they're going for a fate worse than death."_

 _"And what's this about the last jewel? Lupin's phial again?" Anya asked. "That must be it."_

 _"What I want to know," Finola said, "is who wrote this crazy, mental, insane thing. I only read some—what I didn't read sounds like something out of a supremacy manifesto." She turned to the last page. "'There stands the challenge. Vita vermiculo! I remain your humble and obedient servant—Jane S. Bloodworth.'" She clapped the book shut and used a summoning reversal to put it back on the shelf, eager to get the hateful thing out of her hands._

 _"Bloodworth," Lily echoed. "I think I know who they are. The Sacred Twenty-Eight—there used to be a pureblood circle like it in America, until Ilvermorny was founded and the wizards and No-Maj people started working together. There were only ten families, but there were supposed to be twelve. The Bloodworths were one family that got expelled."_

 _"So why are old Jane's Red Regals messing with us?" Brenna asked. "Why not just be a pain in Ilvermorny's rump?"_

 _"Oh yeah, like that would be any easier," Finola challenged._

 _"No, I didn't mean—well, you know what I mean. Why are she and her Umbras picking on Hogwarts?"_

 _"Maybe it's not just us," Lily said. "Look at the prophecy again. 'Twisting all resources to destroy hope and faith.' Maybe it's not bodies they're after. Like in the Bible, where Paul says we don't fight against flesh and blood. We had it in youth group one time."_

 _"But this isn't exactly a Christian realm. Not like Narnia or Middle Earth," Anya said. "So why us, and why now, and…"_

 _"I think the real question is, why aren't all of you in bed," a familiar baritone broke in. "Miss Frost, I ought to have known. Only you would break curfew to lurk in the library."_

 _Anya stood. "Professor, sir. We lost track of time."_

 _"I'm neither blind nor an idiot, Miss Glazkov. And since the three of you seem to be so fond of helping Miss Frost research, I'm sure you also won't mind serving detention with her, helping Madame Pince take inventory. And Miss Frost, I assure you, were you still in Slytherin and your entire fate rested with me, I'd have you sitting in here copying ancient Potions recipes until your Dicta-Quill melded to your hand. Now, if you four—dubiously Gifted—troublemakers have any sense of self-interest, you'll scatter."_

 _Post-Detention, Next Night_

 _"I never thought I'd say this," Finola declared, "but if I don't see the inside of the library for another week, it'll be too soon. And when we didn't even mean to break curfew! I think Snape would give a detention to his own mother."_

 _"But at least you spent detention surrounded by books," Lily said, ever-optimistic._

 _"True. I even found a whole shelf of Muggle novels in the back. Some aren't even out yet in my world."_

 _"Ooh, check out any?" Anya asked with a fond smile._

 _Finola blushed. "No. Madame Pince said because I broke curfew, she's gonna revoke my privileges for another week. It would've been two, she said, except she can't prove I cast that summoning charm."_

 _"Good grief," Brenna said, tone dripping indignation and sympathy. "That's like—like telling Oliver Wood you cancelled Quidditch."_

 _"Hey, I'll survive. One time, I got a thirteen on a math test. This was before we knew I had perception problems that caused the bad grades. Anyway, my parents refused to let me step foot in a library or bookstore for a month. I just about lost it."_

 _"Hold on a minute," Lily laughed. "Did Finola Frost just break the rules, serve a detention, take on an extra punishment on top of it—and say she would_ _survive_ _?"_

 _"Yeah, I think I saw Voldy tap-dancing on the school roof, too. The apocalypse has begun," Brenna teased._

 _"Without me, you'd be in a state of permanent detention," Finola bantered._

 _"And you'd never have any fun at all."_

 _"True. So…thanks?"_

 _"You're welcome. Speaking of fun—it's Friday night. The Gryffindor first- and second-years always have a Quidditch game in their pajamas. McGonagall referees. Why don't you all come? Finola, we need a wordy Ravenclaw to commentate."_

 _"Fun or not, I'm not breaking curfew again," Finola said. Lily nodded in agreement._

 _"It's all right. I'll send Professor McG a quick owl, say you're my guests. Meet you on the pitch in, say, half an hour?"_

 _The Formidables agreed with some quick finalizations, and Finola made her way back to Ravenclaw to change into a warmer cloak and sturdy shoes. In record time, she met up with Brenna, who wore a jean skirt and Holyhead Harpies jersey under her own cloak. She whistled a tune she explained was called "Weasley is Our Queen."_

 _"We'll have you playing Quidditch next year, just you wait," Brenna predicted._

 _"Yeah, when pigs fly. Wait, they probably can here. Um, when—Snape gives Gryffindor two hundred points."_

 _Brenna laughed. "I could probably make it happen. Anya could make a Draught of Goodwill, and I could let my hand slip over his morning coffee...ugh!" Brenna's hand went to her nose and mouth as they started down the main staircase. "What_ _died_ _in here?"_

 _Finola coughed. "Is that what it smells like to you?"_

 _Brenna shivered. "Yeah, a rotting corpse."_

 _"Not to me. It's…" Finola broke off. The smell of her Boggart. And sudden, awful heat. Creeping up her neck, cactus-like fingers inching into her skin…_

 _Don't let them penetrate._ _How she knew, she couldn't say. She just grabbed Brenna's hand. "Run!"_

 _"Where?"_

 _"Try the dungeons—they're cold," Finola panted en route. "Snape works late…classroom…still open…"_

 _The next few minutes were a blur of clattering shoes, cobblestones, protesting people getting knocked into, and fear. The cactus fingers grazed Finola's neck again, and a cry told her they'd gotten Brenna, too. Both girls reached up, and their fingers came away bloodied. Brenna gained the dungeon door first and slammed her body in it._

 _"Snape! Open up—we're…oh, it's locked…" She let a few swear words fly. "Snape! Dumbledore, Swanson, anybody!"_

 _"Alohomora!" Finola screamed. The dungeon door flew open. She had never been so glad to enter the Potions classroom. She and Brenna dove under Snape's desk. The heat decreased, but persisted, along with the smell._

 _"This is ridiculous," Brenna declared. She stood, wand thrust forward. "All right, you! Stupefy!"_

 _For the second time, Finola found herself facing a scarlet, empty-eyed Umbra. It hadn't responded to Brenna's spell at all, and one look at her friend's bleeding neck, her face contorted in pain, was all it took. Adrenaline, desperation, and fury, the kind only Snape inspired in her, zoomed through Finola's system and she leapt to her feet._

 _"Not this time! Out of my way!" A hand shoved Finola back to the floor. "_ _Cryogenia maxima!"_

 _Finola recognized three things at the same time. First, a person—_ _Thalia Harrington._ _Had she followed them here? Second, the Umbra still lurked in the room, but was frozen, the rancid odor and suffocating heat gone. And third…_

 _Had Thalia Harrington just saved her life?_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

"We've got to get you to the Hospital Wing, now," Thalia commanded.

"Sure, with a detour to the Black Lake?" Brenna snapped. "Not on your life, Harrington."

"Funny you should mention my life, since I just saved yours. Neither of you are in any position to tell me what to do."

"Brenna, she's right," Finola said. "As much as I hate to admit." She turned burning eyes on Thalia. "Do what you want with me, but you hurt my friend and I'll risk expulsion to make you sorry."

"Spare me the dramatic speech and move it, Frost."

Finola listened, but the further she walked, the more her injury throbbed and burned. The leftovers of those spiny fingers dug into her, and her skin vibrated with a deep, persistent itch. Memaw had always called it "Satan's itch," usually in reference to sunburns. Now Finola understood why.

A door slammed, and Professor McGonagall tore through the hall. Lily, dripping blood from her knees, followed. Anya moaned in McGonagall's arms.

"Kettleburn! Frost, Harrington!" McGonagall's Scottish brogue was nearly intelligible. "You, too?"

"Not me," Thalia spoke up. "But Brenna—and poor Finola, cowering under Snape's desk—she choked…"

"I'm gonna choke _you_ ," Brenna threatened in a rasp.

"No time for that now," McGonagall reprimanded. She grabbed Thalia and Brenna's hands and rushed toward an open fireplace. Finola and Lily rushed behind her. In a burst of Floo Powder and soot, the whole crowd landed in the infirmary.

The next several minutes passed in a whirlwind of raised, clipped voices, wand diagnostics, foul but blessedly cool burn paste, bandages, and hard, quick footsteps. The next time Finola could catch a breath, all four Heads of House were in the hospital wing, each teacher standing over his or her student like the protective de facto parents they were.

"Minerva, would you mind telling us what the—" Snape cursed a blue streak, but looked toward Finola and appeared to catch himself mid-epithet. "Are they marked?" he asked after clearing his throat.

"It's superficial," Madame Pomfrey pronounced. "Glazkov got hit the worst. The others were, thank Merlin, able to take cover."

"Where were you all this time of night?" Professor Swanson demanded. She wore the same stormy look as Snape, but her voice carried irritation born of worry, not anger at breaking rules.

"It was sanctioned, Monica." McGonagall's tone was back to its usual unflappable self. "Kettleburn owled me, and I gave permission for the others to attend the weekly Gryffindor junior Quidditch match. Miss Corrigan was already playing when it happened. Another first-year lost control of the Snitch, and Corrigan offered to fetch it. The Umbra struck then."

"Quidditch. I might have known," Snape scoffed. "Minerva, your skull's as thick as a Quaffle in your old age. If you would focus on teaching and resting, instead of…"

"At least I take time to build rapport with my students—something you're too stubborn to learn. As for age, you're still young enough to get your ears boxed in my book, so watch your mouth."

"Well, Frost never would've been out late at all, had Kettleburn not pressured her. Your little lion cub is a bad influence."

"Severus Snape, you are impossible. Not every infraction is solely Gryffindor's fault!"

"Besides, what do you intend to do about it, Severus?" Professor Longbottom asked. "Harm Miss Frost's familiar as punishment? I'm surprised you haven't appeared as her Boggart already."

"Hey, lay off," Professor Swanson jumped in. "Dredging up the past doesn't help anyone, or haven't you all learned that after two wars? Sometimes I think this whole place is freakin' nuts!"

Madame Pomfrey brandished her wand. "Silencio, all of you!" When the spell took effect, she shook her head. "Honestly, who are the children? I'll thank you to calm yourselves, before I hold you all down and administer enemas—the Muggle way. I want every one of you out of here while I finish tending to my patients."

Finola didn't dare look at any of her friends. If she had, they would've all died laughing from the picture of Madame Pomfrey handing out Muggle enemas. As it was, Brenna and Anya were snickering, trying to cover it up with fake coughs. Snape and McGonagall scowled, but kept quiet. Meanwhile, Professor Swanson turned to Thalia Harrington.

"Thirty points to Ravenclaw, not only for helping a classmate but trying to make amends," she announced. "I'm pleased to see you've learned something from the whole mess."

Thalia nodded, but spoke to Finola instead of the professor. "Yeah. Look, Finola, mate—"

"She's no mate of yours," Anya barked.

"I haven't had a chance to talk to you," Thalia went on. "It was inexcusable, what I did to you. It wasn't all my idea—the Primminger sisters wanted to hurt your cat, and Lucretia was the main one in charge of vandalizing your room. But still, I knew better. I know you're a better person than I am, so—forgive me?"

As had happened before at Hogwarts, the room around Finola froze, fell out of focus. It was just her and Thalia, studying each other's eyes, her jade green locked on Finola's hazel. Finola's pulse increased. Her instinctual response— _not in a million years, girl—_ couldn't find purchase. Knowledge of who she was, and what she was, the reputation that preceded her, swirled in her heart. Her head pounded, first a dull throb, then searing, screaming pain. Afraid of what that meant, she seized an answer.

"Sure. Yeah, it's fine. I mean, yes, I forgive you."

The hospital wing came back into focus, but Finola's headache persisted. "Um, Madame Pomfrey? Do you have any headache reliever?"

"Of course. Miss Harrington, you may go. Professors, if you'd like to wait outside, you may take your respective students home in about fifteen minutes."

 _Hospital Wing Annex_

"Swanson, will you stop that? You're going to pull your hair out, which won't help the young ladies." Severus Snape kept his voice level, but frustration seeped through. He fixed his eyes on the opposite wall, partly to calm down and partly to take them from the soft cocoa curls gracing his colleague's head. The blue and bronze streaks he'd seen in September were gone; she must've washed or magicked them away. Now, the variegated shades of chocolate, mahogany, and the slightest bits of auburn and burned cinnamon were… _nothing. Get a grip, Snape!_

She stopped twirling the curl near her left ear. "Okay, if you'll stop pacing and growling like a hungry bear at the London Zoological Gardens."

Severus gave her a withering look, but sat. "Thank Merlin those Umbras didn't get all the way past the top layer of dermis. At this point, Sarah and Eliot J. Frost would have my job and every Galleon I've ever possessed, if not my head on a pike."

Monica studied him. "That's your only concern, then? That everybody knows this wasn't your fault?" Gentle disappointment tinged the question.

Shame gripped Severus and held on with a hot, intense grip, as if the Umbra had marked his skin. He wished it had. Remus Lupin's words slapped him. _"I don't care what spell Dumbledore has you under, you're incapable of treating anyone decently."_ But that wasn't true, was it? He wasn't protective of Frost and her friends just because he'd end up with physical symptoms otherwise?

"No." The answer came out vehement, bitter. "Once again, you prove yourself a heart-driven, foolish woman. You could be blamed as easily as I."

"Leave me out of this," she commanded. "I'd take the blame. There are four girls in that room, hurt, shaken, and probably scared out of their minds. Finola in particular expects you or I to march back in there and tell her she's weak and stupid."

"I wouldn't," Severus insisted. "And how do you know? Are you a Legillimens, too?"

She softened. "Not as good as you." A little laugh. "But I've got a little training, enough to be dangerous. And I can do enough Occlumency to get myself out of an immediate line of fire."

"Who taught you?"

"Don't change the subject, mister. Is saving your own skin your only concern?"

He looked her dead in the eye. "You tell me."

She stared straight back. A slight twinge alerted Severus to her entry into his mind, but otherwise, she was as quick and undetectable as any Legillmens he knew.

"Wow," she breathed. "No."

"It's so surprising, then? I thought you believed the best of everyone."

She twirled that curl again, sighing. "I do. Or, I try. I taught myself how; the alternative was to end up bitter, isolated, like—" She broke off. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"Yes, you did, and it's all right. I am a bitter, isolated dungeon bat. When it saves your life, you learn to accept it."

"But that's not all," Monica insisted. She smiled. "I'm starting to get it."

"What?"

"Why you're attached to Finola, more than the others. Why you volunteered to be her de facto dad. You two are a lot alike."

Severus laughed then, like he had the morning in Dumbledore's office when Frost stood up to him. Laughed so hard, in fact, that he snorted. It was the deep, sincere laugh that hadn't seen daylight in decades—the one he cloaked for fear of giving bullies the slightest ammunition.

"Monica Swanson," he finally managed. "I knew you were a madcap, just this side of dotty American. But—Frost? Me? We couldn't be more different if we tried, and I don't mean age, sex, and Muggle upbringing."

"Let me clarify for you." Monica's eyes sparkled, danced in a way Severus hadn't seen, even when he accepted her blasted delicious mocha concoction. "As Neville would say, you're different plants, but you've got the same roots. You're both perfectionists. So brilliant it's scary. You'll work until you drop dead to get something right, and no fun until the work is done."

"But it's deeper," she went on. "You both grew up hard. In different ways—Finola's got the advantage of family love and consistent provision. But she knows what it is to be judged for what you are, not who. She's had to fight for almost everything, even things she should deserve because she's alive. Sound familiar?"

Severus nodded. "It does. Thank Merlin she was luckier than I in the family department. Although—that would actually explain some insecurities."

Monica nodded. "Mixed signals. When your folks tell you they love you, but the rest of the world says, 'you gotta earn it, kid'—that's tough."

"Not to mention that God of hers," Severus added. "What sort of God promises love and grace, but then turns around and tells a child he hates her because she has magic?" When Monica's brow furrowed, he clarified. "One of Frost's Pensieve memories. It showed her in Sunday school, barely old enough to be losing baby teeth. She mentioned having magic, called it a gift of God, and the teacher lectured her."

"Hmmmm." Monica twirled her hair again. "Finola's pretty close-mouthed about it, but I think she's undergone academic abuse, the likes of which even her folks don't know." She turned toward the hospital wing. "I wonder if she's any safer here than someplace else in the Wizarding World." She sighed. "Severus, how did I get into this gig? I don't want to overprotect her, and yet when I let go, something like this happens. I knew she'd been having headaches, but what I saw in there—she's in serious pain. What kind of a de facto mom am I?"

"A good one." The answer came out more vehement than Severus intended, but the longer it was out of his mouth, the more he understood he meant it. "Frost needs more practice speaking up about what's troubling her, physical or otherwise. And both of us need practice in when to hold on or let go, when to push or stop pushing." He stared into space. "You're a far better guardian to her than I. You ask; I interrogate. You listen; I give her orders because I know she'll toe the line. You relate to her and I can't seem to, no matter how alike we are."

"Hey, you're gonna get there," Monica said, as if coaching a first-year through a charm they couldn't grasp. "We both have to. I—I can't fail Finola the way I failed my sisters."

"Your sisters?" Severus reached back in his mind. Yes, she mentioned them a few times, but—oh. "Yes. That's right, you told Albus you raised them."

"Yeah. Not at first—I was in Ilvermorny, and I didn't know…after Mom and Dad died, they sent Ruby and Angelica to live with my aunt and uncle. Aunt Constance and Uncle Kieran wouldn't let me come home, even on breaks. They'd send my sisters to see me during holidays, and they looked okay. I—I was so wrapped up in my own life, my standing as a prodigy, I ignored the little signs. Finally, my second year, Ruby sent me this desperate letter. It turned out the girls were living a nightmare." She pulled in a breath. "Angelica's a Squib, and my aunt and uncle punished her for it. They tried to beat magic into her. And when Ruby got in the way, they punished her, too."

Severus jumped up at that, paced again. He'd spent more than twenty years telling himself Muggles and Squibs were lesser beings, one step above beasts. He'd kept the picture and atrocities of Tobias Snape in his mind as motivation. Yet now…

"I failed them," Monica whispered. "They were beaten, starved, shamed—because I wasn't there. Because I put myself first." She paused for a good couple minutes. "I finally forgave myself, because Ruby and Angie pleaded for me to. But if I fail again…"

Severus sat next to her and made eye contact again. Tears glimmered in her eyes now, giving them the look of faceted aquamarines. Before he could process it, he reached up and wiped a tear from under her eyelid.

"You won't. Trust yourself. And remember, you're much better off than I am."

She sniffled. "You don't fool me. Your house crest may say Slytherin, but you've got a Gryffindor heart. As in, gold."

"Plated and painted over, perhaps. And tarnished beyond repair."

"You'd have a hard time proving that, mister. I think that gold just glittered."

"Well, what have we here? A little Ravenclaw poet."

"Horned Serpent first, remember?"

"Good thing blue and bronze look as good on you as green."

Severus couldn't say whose voice dropped to a whisper first. Who moved closer first, or exactly when their knees touched. Even through his cloak, his skin prickled, as if waking from a long bout with frostbite. Monica's eyes slid closed, and she tipped her chin upward.

"No!" They jumped apart like they'd been shocked, both sets of feet hitting the floor.

"No." Monica spun on her heel. "No, I can't—I'm not doing this again. You can't—you're not…" She jabbed a finger at him. "What did you do, slip me love potion?"

"Why would you say something so asinine?"

"Because, I—you're a—"

Severus' skin went cold again, and the curtain fell back over his heart. "Say it. Death Eater. Turncoat. Child abuser. Just say it!"

Her face crumpled, and this time the tears escaped. "No, Severus. I wouldn't say those things. Maybe they were true once, but I don't think—darn it!" She sniffled and added a few real curses. "Sorry. I've tried for months to believe that. I thought if I remembered who you were, it would keep me safe. It worked at first, but now, I…"

"So—you don't believe…"

"No, I don't." She shook her head. "You're still a bitter, isolated, bat-winged son of a gun who, by rights, shouldn't be let within ten feet of an underage wizard or witch. But a Death Eater? A supremacist?" She shook her head. "That's done. But if I…I can't, Severus. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

The admission stung, but didn't burn or rip like Lily losing faith in him. _Lily._ The thought made his heart crack again. He was no more ready than she was, and yet—those deep blue-green eyes. That sweet, encouraging voice. That true, solid gold heart.

He reached a hand toward her. "Neither am I. So…partners."

"Guardians."

"Friends."

Monica smiled. "Of course, friends. But for now, we table the rest?"

"Yes."

Monica sighed, then pointed toward the Hospital Wing. "Heads up. We might disappoint four little matchmakers."

"That doesn't mean we can't keep them on their toes. Remember, Horned Serpents are just as cunning as Slytherins."

"I like the way you think. Good night, Severus."

"Good night, Monica."

 _ **Dispatch from**_ Hogwarts Weekly, _**Student Newsletter**_

 _ **Date: October 20**_

"Hello, fellow Hogwartians! This is Charlie Edgecombe-Darnay, seventh year and your school correspondent speaking, live at our first podcast! Oh, hold on…please be patient as we deal with the last few technical difficulties…" Static and cleared throats interrupted the broadcast, until Charlie came back on.

"I'm here in Gryffindor Tower with our four distinguished professors, the brilliant minds behind inventing, testing, and perfecting the spells and potions needed to catapult Hogwarts into the twenty-first century. Professor McGonagall, as I'm at your home base, why don't you start by telling us about your part in the process?"

Finola reached over and turned up her Wizarding radio to hear the Transfiguration professor's strong but aging voice.

"It has been quite an adventure, Mr. Darnay, and not at all the relaxing post-war project I anticipated. But it heartens me to see so many wizards and witches coming together to make Dumbledore's vision of house and blood unity a reality. When I consider the fears and prejudices that had to be put aside, my part—transfiguring wires to look like innocent pipes and rerouting technological signals—seems a trifle. But I have always wanted to use the transfiguration spell that transforms quill nibs into data transmitters, ever since I read about the development in _Transfiguration Today._ That part was—well, a bit like catching a rogue Snitch for me."

"She sounds ecstatic," Finola observed to Holly. "I can practically feel her eyes twinkling—ouch!"

"Sorry. But are you sure about this bun? I don't want you to get a headache."

Finola held up a vial in her robe pocket. "Professor Swanson gave me some reliever as a preemptive strike, so yeah, I'm sure. We've got our toughest potion yet today, so I'm going to be ready. No jewelry, no ribbons, all business. And some extra touches." She motioned to the sweater under her robe, a black one-piece that looked like it had a pristine, white collared blouse underneath, followed by the black houndstooth skirt. "I figure if I kind of channel Snape, plus say a bunch of prayers, I might get by with more than an A."

Holly raised her eyebrows. "Sure, but didn't he say you need to learn to accept Acceptable?"

"I could if I thought it was acceptable to _him_. He and Professor Swanson have done so much for me, it kills me to let either one down. I can ace Swanson's class, but Snape's…he's trying so hard, but I see his face when I mess up." She grimaced in imitation. "I can tell, it's all he can do not to burst out with something like, 'Frost, you insufferable idiot!'"

"Speaking of the old crank." Holly tuned back in to the wireless network, where Darnay was asking Snape about a potion he'd used to lubricate wires and keep bugs and viruses away.

"It's an amalgam of ink stain remover, Polyjuice, antidote to common poisons, and several of Professor Longbottom's venomous flora," he explained. "Highly advanced, and under lock and key—so even if you're a seventh-year NEWT level student, don't ask. Snooping will cost you a thousand house points."

"Although we can say we had quite a fight with Venomous Tentacula and Snargaluff," Professor Longbottom put in. "Our Potions Master remains as fearless as ever. Severus, if I haven't mentioned it, it's so gratifying to see you back at work after such a battle with Nagini's stroke-inducing bite. Even Dumbledore had his doubts, but…".

Professor Swanson interrupted, voice gliding over the waves."The way I hear it, the Wizarding World has its doubts about all of us," she said, "and as the expat, I get that. But I gotta say, Charlie, working with these guys and gals has been super. We've made a good team. Minerva, you're a fantastic teaching mentor, Neville, you show me every day the level of greatness I want to help my kids reach—and Severus…" She laughed. "Well, we kinda got off on the wrong foot, didn't we? But if there's one thing I'm learning from you, it's that first impressions aren't always correct. Well that, and never, ever heat your Wide-Eye Potion beyond 82 degrees Celsius, or you may never sleep again."

"You heard it here first, folks," Charlie announced. "The magic number is eighty-two, and don't ask about that anti-virus potion if you want half a chance at the House Cup! Speaking of, let's have an update. Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore's away from Hogwarts at the moment, so can you give us a rundown of the points?"

"Gladly, Mr. Darnay. This is the closest I've seen House points in several decades. Ravenclaw, with fifteen hundred ninety-eight, remains in fourth. Slytherin is second, with 1602, then my own Gryffindor with 1750, and for the first time since the Potter era, Hufflepuff takes the lead with 1775."

"Wicked," Charlie said. "Lily Corrigan must be racking up the good grades and good deeds—we hear she's aces at Herbology, Professor Longbottom."

"You heard right. She loves plants and flora the way Hagrid adores magical creatures, and it shows. That certainly helps, as does her classic Hufflepuff work ethic. But her justice and kindness toward others, especially her fellow witches, has netted her the most points of any deed. You may recall she was the first to speak up for Finola Frost when the latter ran afoul of Professor Snape's, eh, exacting standards, and she has maintained that tendency."

"Ah." Charlie's voice betrayed keen, perhaps predatory, interest. "Are you saying Finola Frost remains the underdog at Hogwarts? Confirmation of some parts of the Gifted test will arrive today, and though she has been valiant, rumors are swirling that a physically and emotionally fragile witch may not be…"

"Turn that off," Finola demanded, not watching her tone. Holly's jaw dropped, and Finola grabbed for the radio herself, but not before Snape's voice took over.

"Miss Frost has grown magically and personally by leaps and bounds, and I doubt anyone will soon think she needs a bodyguard." He cleared his throat. "However, her standing does remain to be seen. Thalia Harrington's performance in Potions, and her physical prowess in flying and similar matters, have led me to consider carefully where my support should lie. After all, she recently saved Miss Frost's life and perhaps sanity after an Umbra attack. Miss Frost and I are—you could say we were forced into amicable terms, which I do not regret. And Miss Harrington nearly ruined any chance she had, with her behavior earlier this term. Still, both show great potential and I must attempt to be as unbiased as possible. Of course, it helps that my serpent Anya Glazkov's place is already secure, so no house bias can exist." He chuckled.

"We all should." Professor Swanson again. "Note though, that the decision of who gets the Gifted spot isn't up to us professors. We're each biased toward and sponsoring our own House members. So starting today, when the test is revealed, get out there and show your support for the candidate you think will best help Hogwarts in our new fight."

"I don't know what Swanson, or any of them, are thinking," Holly comforted, turning the radio off. "Any witch who'd vandalize, use racial slurs, and drown a cat for fun is no help to us. You're a shoo-in."

"We'll see. How much time left before breakfast?"

Holly punched Finola in the shoulder. "You've got more than thirty minutes, Miss Early Raven."

"Good. I think I'm going to uh, pray some more."

 _Potions Classroom_

"She's right, you know. And I don't see how God, or Jesus, or any saint, could be on Thalia's side instead of yours," Brenna whispered. "But there's something else." She slipped Finola a note. "Tomorrow's the full moon. The twenty-first."

Finola opened the note, written on Slytherin stationery. _Hospital wing, recovering from Umbra mark, and terrible pain. It's going to happen._ _Please_ _come, and have Lily bring nettle and green tea._

"Green tea and nettle?" Brenna echoed. "Why?"

The answer shot worry into Finola's veins. "They're appetite suppressants. But do they work if you're not…"

The Potions door clapped closed. "Enough foolish chitchat and gossip, class. Turn to page 160, Weedsoros. This is a dangerous and complex poison, so I expect nothing less than perfect precision." He fixed his blank, black gaze on Finola. "Move with swiftness and confidence; I, and these ingredients, can sense fear." A smirk crept across his lips.

"I swear that guy pulls the wings off flies for fun," Brenna whispered. "Okay, partner, let's give him his confident perfection."

"I assure you, Miss Kettleburn, any flies in my vicinity keep their wings, if not their lives. And, what say we make things a bit interesting this afternoon?" The smirk widened. "In honor of the test announcement, I'd like Miss Harrington and Miss Frost to work together today."

"Ack!" The noise escaped Finola's throat without permission.

"Are you mental?" Brenna challenged. "She's…"

"What?" Thalia turned wide green eyes on Snape. "Finola forgave me, after all. I'd be honored to share my expertise with a friend." She strode over, chin high, and nudged Brenna aside a little harder than necessary. Finola froze, until Snape addressed her.

"Relax, Miss Frost. I'm sure with restraint spells still in effect, and your forgiving nature, you can muddle through a joint potion. It would be childish and cowardly to do otherwise, would it not?"

Finola sighed. _Good old Snape, master of the backhanded compliment._ She gave him a clipped nod as the rest of the class broke into murmurs. A few took out their wands and stood at attention as if bracing themselves.

"Enough! Twenty points from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor for turning my classroom into a circus. That Weedsoros isn't going to brew itself!"

Finola focused on the recipe up front, trying to pick out the easy parts to calm her pulse and anxious spirit. Oh, darn it—these were more complicated than even she'd bargained for. Okay, starting with her standard ingredient… _Breathe, Frost. You can do this._

"You're fine. Just tune Snape out and watch me. There—tip it a little more. I'll stop you if you start to put in too much."

It took Finola a couple minutes to square the kind voice with her nemesis. She nodded and glued her gaze to her scales while she measured the first batch of plant-based ingredients.

"Oh—they're uneven. See?" Had Thalia jabbed her finger toward the scale, or was Finola paranoid? She inhaled. She'd promised forgiveness, so… "Not really, but thanks. And—thanks for helping with the Umbra, too."

"Us 'mudbloods' have to stick together, don't we?" Thalia arched her eyebrows, drawing quotes in the air on the slur. "I'm only sorry I didn't realize it sooner."

"Hmmm." A quarter gill…where was that line again? Finola put her finger flush against it, but that caused a few drops of tincture to splash out of her beaker. Thalia was right there with a cleaning cloth, giggling.

"I guess this class still makes you nervous, eh?" She rolled her eyes. "It's all Snape's fault anyway, turning his own classroom into a sideshow and blaming us."

"Yeah," Finola had to agree. "If you ask me, I think he hates teaching. At least, this kind. He's okay one on one—Ravenclaw would be at zero if he took all the points he could from me." Wait a minute, why was her cauldron hissing? _Drat, drat, drat!_ She must've added the salamander blood too soon or too late—no, her timing was right, her stirring was off…

"Why don't you take a break?" Thalia asked. "We are supposed to be working together after all, and you look like your arm hurts."

"I'm fine," Finola lied through clenched teeth. "Snape will never let me hear the end of it if he thinks I'm whining over every little thing." Forget that he'd never called her a whiner, or even insinuated it, which for him was restraint. Finola had been called whiny and accused of not trying hard enough so many times in eleven years, she could gag on the words. Nobody was gonna do it to her here, especially the teacher she'd give anything to truly please.

Thalia leaned in and lowered her voice. "I have as much right to that spot as you, maybe more. It won't help either of us if the potion is ruined."

Ah, now here was the old Thalia—or a version of her, anyway. Finola weighed her options and chose to step back rather than fight, using her Sunday school smile as a weapon. Thalia took over while Finola surreptitiously massaged her temples. Forgiven or not, Thalia wasn't being friendly for its own sake. What was her game? What did she know, or what information did she want? Finola studied the other girl while she left a perfectly symmetrical slice in a spleen. Thalia looked up and winked at her. For an instant, her winking eye took on the look of a pit viper's.

"Oh! Oh, my!" Finola stumbled back, knocking into Thalia, whose arm jostled, knocking the cauldron's heat too low. Finola scrambled to fix it, but the knob stuck, and she had to use both hands. By the time she got the temperature right, it was too late. The Weedsoros was hissing, which it wasn't supposed to do. Thalia cursed and glared. The viper similarity vanished, but her eyes gleamed with sugared wickedness.

"Is there a problem over here, ladies?" Snape's voice, silky but edged in steel, cut through the dungeon. Several classmates turned as if anticipating yet another confrontation. Finola straightened, ready to take the tirade, but things got strange again.

The air surrounding her person went several degrees warmer than the rest of the room. Her potion stopped hissing. Snape looked down into the cauldron, his face going wrathful. "Miss Frost, do you care to explain yourself? I suspect a careless mistake, and not your condition, is to blame for this lukewarm…"

He stopped cold. Finola clamped her lips to keep her jaw from dropping. Was this Quid Pro Quo Law? No, couldn't be; Snape hadn't actually insulted her—yet. As she watched, her teacher turned to look over his shoulder, found nobody there, and rubbed the shoulder area of his cloak, anyway.

"Let me see." It was as normal as Finola had ever heard his voice. Minus the accent, he actually sounded a bit like Dad, coaching her through math.

"Oh, there's the problem. These benighted cauldrons, no one's adjusted the budget since the Marauder's era..." He double-checked the cauldron's heat, dipped his own ladle into the mixture, and muttered a few blue phrases about budgets, Dumbledore, and outdated aesthetics.

"It's coming along. Mind the aloe vera—Weedsoros is meant to burn the insides, not the skin. Just a pinch, not a dollop."

"What's the difference?" The question escaped before Finola thought it through.

Snape held her gaze for a few seconds, but didn't stare her down. "The former fits between your thumb and index finger. The latter is more the size of your palm." He walked away then, shaking his head. Once he was out of earshot, the air chilled again.

"So, what's up with you and Snape?" Thalia asked. "Rumor is you've cast some spell on him."

"That's why they're called rumors." Finola started stirring again. "Maybe now that Harry Potter doesn't go here, he's waking up to the fact that us kids are people, too, and we don't deserve to be treated like dirt." A few more stirs clockwise, but the mixture was thickening, and some of the grainy beginnings were sticking to the cauldron.

"Thalia, um…could you…" _I cannot_ believe _I'm doing this._ "I could use some help."

"Of course you could." This time, the tone sounded sweeter than Finola expected. "Let me. If you'll grab that finishing nettle sprig from the storeroom?"

"Okay."

"Nettle…nettle…" Good thing Snape kept everything in alphabetical order. One ear cocked for sounds of mishaps that could be blamed on her, Finola retrieved what she needed. But her foot caught on a loose stone, and she tripped, sending the nettle flying.

"Hmmm," Snape pronounced later. "Your work pushes the potion into a higher caliber, Miss Harrington. It's worth eighteen of the twenty points I took from Ravenclaw. But since I know exactly who did what, I will hand out two separate grades."

Finola stiffened. Was that fair? She guessed so, but her pulse kicked up anyway. She hardly heard Snape's pronouncement to Thalia, but caught his scowl in her direction.

"Commendable effort as always, Miss Frost. Unfortunately, you allowed germs and dirt into the nettle, throwing off the potency, and let the potion grow too cold before I could adjust the temperature. Since these errors can be attributed to not requesting assistance and making a careless mistake, rather than your disability itself, the grade is a P."

Finola held in a sigh. He was nit-picking and she bet the whole class knew it. Still, she supposed it was her fault for forgetting the loose stone. She'd always known it was there—hadn't she?

"It's all right," Thalia soothed as the class dispersed. "We'll get it next time."

"So says the girl who got an E+." Finola kept her tone light.

"What can I say? Magic fingers." Thalia actually drew Finola into a side hug. "Stick with me. You'll go places you never knew you'd end up."

 _Hospital Wing_

Anya took the mug of green tea and drank deeply. "Thanks, girls. Lily, is that vanilla?"

"Some of Longbottom's sweetest and best," Lily confirmed. "Your favorite."

Finola took in her friend's overly long, dirty nails, her unkempt hair smushed against the pillow, her pale face. "How are you feeling, Anya? Really?"

"I'll be fine, I think. Madame Pomfrey is going with me to the Chamber. I've been praying, studying." She picked up a New Testament in Cryllic alphabet from the nightstand. "I keep telling myself it might not be so bad. Please, don't worry for me. Just sit with me until it's time, and tell me how your day went. Finola, did you get through Weedsoros all right?"

"I flunked," Finola said. "It was another totally weird day." She explained Snape and Thalia's behavior, but left out the part about the viper eye. "I want to trust that Thalia's turned it around, but I can't. And with what Snape said in the podcast…I'm kinda thinking he's softening me up. That he wants Thalia to win. I think he would've thrown the book at me if—I don't know. It was as if there was this—warmth with me, a force field of some kind he couldn't get through."

"Girl, you know what that was." Brenna tapped the Bible's cover. "Sounds to me like Jesus got in Snape's grill and said, 'All right, you old bat, you leave my daughter alone.'"

"But why? Teachers have yelled and blamed and bullied me before, and Jesus was never there. I mean, He was _there_ , but He didn't stop it."

"Perhaps because of the realm you're in," Anya predicted. "Dark magic and forces are stronger here, so God has to be more obvious. And perhaps because Snape is changing." She giggled. "I think Swanson's got him wrapped around her pinkie. We may get to see Operation Blackbird to fruition after all. Ooooh." She bent, doubled over. "Ahhhhh!"

"What is it? What can we do?" Lily swung into action. "Madame Pomfrey!"

"Coming, dearies. Miss Glazkov, let me get you some more pain reliever."

"Th—" Anya broke off, gasping. "It—it's like red moon cramps," she revealed. "But so, so much worse. The pain is like…"

"A hot knife." Professor Lupin's warm voice preceded his footsteps into the room. He sat on the edge of Anya's bed. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Anya. I just spoke with Nymphadora. She'll be there tonight, too. That way I can stay with Teddy, work with the vial."

"Will…ooooowwwww!" Anya's next outburst sounded close to a howl.

"I know, I know. Shhh. Right on time—thank you, Poppy. Can you take this for me? Here, I'll hold it. Just open up."

"Professor," Anya tried again. "Are the rumors true? If the girls and I can find the right jewel, if we can—could there be a cure for me? Others, too?"

"It's too soon to tell. And be careful what you say. Once the test is over, we'll finally be able to reveal everything. Until then…" Lupin sighed. "Just hold onto hope, and do whatever it takes to get it. All of you."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

 **A/N: You're getting two chapters today, in honor of a turning point in the story. Warning for prejudiced language. One use of "hell," directed at a character we all agree deserves it!**

 **The hand thing: I tried to make it so that Snape is not breaking his promise (it's supposed to be a little like what a drill sergeant might put you through to elicit vim and verve). But do let me know if you think he crossed a line.**

 **Also: The character of Finola is autobiographical. With few exceptions, the abuse you will see in the next chapter is** _ **not**_ **. Some of the verbal stuff comes from a discriminatory incident that went on for months, and the reference to being forced into a bathroom stall in front of a teacher is true (though I cannot recall if eliminating in front of her happened). But mostly, this is (A) Cohesion given to a few isolated incidents that were probably abuse but not treated that way, (B), dramatic license, and (C), a commentary on what can and does happen to students with disabilities in school. And yes, I, unlike Finola, did tell my folks the whole truth, leading to appropriate consequences.**

 **Thanks for reading/reviewing. Stay tuned…**

"Darn!" Finola exclaimed as her wand misfired again during her weekly private DADA lesson. "Okay, come on, you know this…" She inhaled, tried to conjure up every bit of emotion she had. She focused on _The Network,_ some of her old memories, even the memory of Snape humiliating Brenna, which in retrospect hurt more than when he'd done it to her.

"Incendio!"

Professor Lupin's robe lit with a tiny flame. It sputtered for a minute, then extinguished. Her professor gave her a sympathetic look. "It's not coming?"

"No." Finola dug the toe of her shoe into the floor.

"Don't start beating yourself up," Lupin said. The order was spoken in a much more understanding tone than Snape used, or even Swanson, who seemed to tolerate Finola's self-doubt less and less. But it was an order, still. "This happens. It's called an off day."

"I can't afford an off day." Finola modulated her tone just in time. "They're announcing the test tonight at dinner, remember? And the way they talk about me—look. I snuck it out of Professor Snape's trash can. I know I shouldn't, but somehow I couldn't help it." She thrust the crumpled _Daily Prophet_ at Lupin with its headline:

 **GIFTED OR GIMP?**

 **Harrington's return to Hogwarts sparks controversy over who really deserves Gifted spot**

 **-Rita Skeeter, Correspondent**

The article went on to go over Finola and Thalia's accomplishments. A particular part stung:

… _Although Miss Frost clearly possesses the traits of all four Houses—the wit of home house Ravenclaw, the chivalry of a Gryffindor, the work ethic of a Hufflepuff, and the ambition of a Slytherin—the way in which she accomplishes doing those houses proud have some Wizarding citizens shaking their heads. For instance, her less-than-amicable history with Professor Severus Snape has raised eyebrows._

" _What's the world coming to, when a student can back-chat and pull a wand on a teacher, and is yet rewarded for it with an easier curriculum?" Wizarding parent Martin Edgecombe asks._

 _Eugenia Langhorne, who works in the Ministry of Magic, has her doubts as well. "While considering a disabled Muggleborn for this spot shows diversity and inclusion…at what cost?" she asks. "Finola Frost's grades are inconsistent, her attitude is borderline sycophantic, and her evangelical faith has some of us worried. The Oculus Vermiculo is tough…suppose they convince her, in her vulnerable mind, she is working with demons? She could destroy us all."_

 _But of course, as they'd say in American Muggle lingo, there are two sides no matter how flat you make a pancake. When asked about Thalia Harrington, the second contender, and her bullying history, Albus Dumbledore had this to say—_

" _Everyone deserves a second chance, and I think Miss Frost knows that. If she is willing to show mercy to Severus Snape, a former Death Eater who called for the mass murder of her race, I have no doubt she can show it to a repentant schoolmate whose actions were far less disturbing."_

 _Most of the Wizarding World agrees, and admits that Harrington has acquitted herself admirably in the last few weeks since serving her suspension. This correspondent recently learned she saved Miss Frost's life on a recent occasion, marking the second time Miss Frost needed rescue because of her physical and perhaps mental deficits. While no one at Hogwarts is willing to take her out of the running yet, it is this correspondent's opinion that time is not on her side. Hogwarts needs a strong female warrior, not a damsel in distress._

Lupin incinerated the paper with an Incendio of his own, and impaled Finola with his usual friendly brown eyes. "Why did you read that?"

"I…I'm worried. And—okay, I admit it. I'm nosy. I was always eavesdropping on grownups back home. I was always afraid that…"

"Afraid of what, Miss Frost?"

Finola's face heated. "It's complicated."

"As is life, Frost." Professor Snape's voice preceded him through the DADA classroom door. "Lupin, you forgot your potion again. And Frost, I have only one thing to say to you. If you're cunning enough to sneak a newspaper out from under my nose, and determined enough to pull it out of the rubbish bin—don't give me that did-you-use-Legillimency look, your hands still smell of old garlic—then you're strong enough to decide what to do about it. You can stand around worrying and wringing your hands like the idiot that Skeeter woman thinks you are—or you can put some effort into this lesson and show her where to stick her hatchet job."

"But if I do all I can and still can't—if she's right…"

Snape swore. "She is _not_ right and you get that out of your head this minute or spend the rest of the year in detention!" He turned slightly, inhaled, and appeared to be counting to ten. "Frost, sit. You too, Lupin. I want us on the same page, for once."

They obeyed, and Severus turned on Finola. "Do not go down that path," he began, each word measured and calm but icy. "It starts innocently enough. A hatchet _Daily Prophet_ article. A few names, some innuendos, insinuations. But if you let those burrow in too deep, you lose control. Wit becomes ruthless calculation, cunning, just plain evil, work ethic, a drive so toxic it might kill you. And the chivalry that once helped you stand for yourself and others—it becomes a taste for adrenaline, a taste for revenge. Look me in the eye, right now."

Finola did so.

"Not on my watch. You think all these dunderheads want is to see you expelled from Hogwarts, losing an opportunity, not being the Ravenclaw Golden Girl? No! They want you to destroy yourself and others. And if you won't protect yourself, then I will."

"Are you…" Finola gulped. "You mean the Dark Arts? Professor Snape, please, I wouldn't…"

"Oh, spare me the politeness and pleading, Frost. You would, and you know it. You may be 'saved by grace' or whatever the buzzword is, but you're as human as the rest of us." He waved his wand, and a painless trail of blood appeared on Finola's hand.

"Severus!" Lupin exclaimed at the gash.

"That's blood," Snape said, ignoring him. "And it's as red as anyone else's. All the prayers and Bible reading in the world can't cure that. All the lessons with Lucy Pevensie can't. I can't give you a potion that will take it away. You'll have other bloody, painful moments in your time with us, but it starts now. This moment, who wins? You, or them?"

"I…I…" Finola grabbed for an answer but couldn't make her mouth say it. And the longer she delayed, the more pain she felt. It wasn't unbearable, sort of like the pain when her leg muscles got stretched in therapy, but with every moment, it got exponentially worse. She dropped eye contact so Snape couldn't read her thoughts. _Lord, if you're here with me, help me. I know he's right, but I can't get rid of the voices. You say I'm gifted and wonderfully made, and that's truth, but the reality… I won't say it if it's not honest. How…_

" _My grace is sufficient. When I am weak, then I am strong."_

The verse acted like a balm. The pain didn't lessen, but Finola took her wand and placed it in her bad hand, gripping it. "I do. And from now on, I'm staying out of your trash cans."

"Hmmm." Snape eased the wand away. "Let me." His voice, minus the accent, sounded a lot like Dad after he told Finola he'd forgiven her for some misdeed or argumentative answer—serious, yet gentle. Sympathetic.

"Episkey," Snape murmured. "I'm sorry."

Finola shrugged. "It's like PT. Sometimes it hurts. You had to."

"PT?" Lupin asked, confused.

"Muggle abbreviation for physical therapy," Snape filled in. "I had quite a bit of the Wizarding version after Nagini, recovering range of motion. I assume the Muggle version is far more tedious. Now, Frost, how about we call off the lesson for now?"

"But I need to get this…"

"And you will," Lupin cut in. "But for now, your mind needs to be off the test."

"And no novels," Snape added. "You need fresh air—you're paler than I am and that's saying something. I'm sure Madame Hooch won't mind if you show up early for Flying class."

 _Castle Grounds_

"Whoa—easy—down…now up again. Oh…" Finola let out a triumphant cheer mixed with a laugh. "I got it!" She waved to her friend, jumping up and down nearby. "Lily, Madame Hooch, I finally got it!"

"A nearly perfect dive," Madame Hooch agreed. "But next time, don't choke up on the landing. Let the broom glide, not sputter—oh. What happened to your hand, love?"

"A little DADA mishap. I'm okay."

"Good girl. Keep working on it. Harrington?" Madame Hooch blew her whistle. "As top flier for Ravenclaw first-years, get over here and give Frost a few pointers, won't you?"

Thalia swooped over. "Watch and learn," she said with a wink. Finola ignored a pinch of nausea.

"You're getting better—slowly," Thalia complimented later while the girls did laps in tandem. "I'm surprised you showed up today."

Finola's guard kicked in. She flexed her bad hand as a reminder not to let Thalia get away with anything. "What do you mean?"

"Madison Know-it-All Primminger," Thalia began with an eye roll, "has been spreading the _Daily Prophet_ all over school. It's a good thing you haven't seen it, that Skeeter woman butchered us both. And now the boys are in on it. Justin De Vries bet me fifty Sickles you wouldn't show up for Flying because it's hard for you and you wouldn't want to look like a ninny."

Finola recognized the name. Justin wasn't a bully in the classic sense, but word in the girls' dorm was, he was the kind of guy who'd let you cheat off him and then rat you out to the teachers. "So I guess Justin owes you, then."

Thalia nodded. "I'm taking it all and going on a Hogsmeade shopping spree this weekend, after the test announcement. The Cabot family's sponsoring me. They're one of the most prominent wizarding families, you know—all daughters, all in Ravenclaw for generations." She chuckled. "Shame you can't come along. No offense meant, but you look like a librarian with that updo and glasses, and all your casual clothes being herringbone, tartan, and all."

 _Offense taken, you silver-tongued slimeball._ "Thanks, but I happen to like the way I dress."

"Oh. Is it a religion thing? I've heard about you people—Christians. You can't cut your hair, can't wear trousers, can't use makeup."

" _You people?" For a Muggleborn, she's got a prejudiced streak the size of a dragon._ "That's only one denomination, and it's not mine. I can wear whatever I want—well, except makeup, but that's because my mom says eleven is too young for anybody. And I can wear my hair how I want."

"Well, get that Prefect of ours to do something decent with it," Thalia muttered before pushing off again. "Let me help you stick the landing, eh?"

Finola "stuck" the landing, but felt more stuck than ever when class ended. Swallowing trepidation, she asked Madame Hooch if she could stay during afternoon break. "I know you said no flying solo, but—"

"I think you've improved in the last couple of weeks. It's fine by me, as long as you don't skip lunch. Professor Snape will have both our heads."

Skipping lunch sounded like exactly what Finola needed to do, but she forced herself to go into the Great Hall, sit, and eat half a sandwich with some Greek salad at a respectable pace. The whole time, seemingly every eye in the place bored into her back.

"You don't suppose they all read the _Daily Prophet,_ do you?" Finola asked.

Anya shook her head. "Slytherin didn't; Snape doesn't allow the thing in the dorms. But we know enough, and as a House, we've voted to stick with you."

"You'll have a devil of a time convincing Gryffindor," Brenna said from her spot across the Hufflepuff table, where all four girls had gathered to avoid most of the comments and gossip. "There've always been rumblings that Thalia's the one, but since she stepped in with the Umbras, people are more vocal now. Some of the idiot boys even made up a song—'Finola Can't Duel.'"

"How would they know anything?" Lily challenged. "None of us can duel, not really, unless we had a parent or sibling teach us a few moves." She removed the crust from her sandwich and set it aside. "But—Finola, I didn't want to tell you…"

"Wait, let me guess. Hufflepuff's on Finola's side, too?" Finola asked.

"So much for being the nicest house," Anya scoffed. "Listen, um…" She took a longing look at a bacon sandwich, gulped, and pushed herself from the table, grabbing a cookie from a platter. "I have to go—see Madame Pomfrey about those cramps."

"We'll drop in on you tonight," Lily promised. "I'll owl Snape, ask if he'll make an exception and let us into the dorm if you need it."

"Thanks." Anya slipped out, walking a little more slowly and keeping her hand on her abdomen.

"And here I'm worried about some dumb test and popularity contest," Finola groused to herself. "I'm sorry, guys. I'm being selfish." She studied her hand. Snape obviously hadn't cut her deeply enough.

"Shut up," Lily reprimanded. "You watch our backs like a hawk—for once, let us return the favor and have yours. Yes, the truth is, Hufflepuff is divided. Most people are towing the party line, saying you have an equal chance. But others, especially the older kids—they…well, they think it's not fair a witch with a disability should be considered at all. They say modifications will only make it easy for you to cheat, and that you've been cheating all along."

"I'd like to Crucio them all," Brenna declared. "It's enough to make a girl go green. And speaking of Crucio…" She nodded to Finola. "What's that on your hand? Looks like a scar."

Finola inhaled. "Okay, but don't flip out on me." She explained the DADA lesson.

Brenna's eyes narrowed to slits, and her face matched Finola's tomato soup. Her lips moved, as if she were counting to ten, before normal color reentered her cheeks. "Okay, I get that. I might've done the same thing." She glanced toward the teachers' table. "Hey, where is the Snake, anyhow?"

 _Whomping Willow Hideout_

"No worries, Severus." Remus held out a plain ceramic vessel. "I have the potion right here."

"For once," Severus said. "Actually, I came by with this." He held out a vial of nutrition potion. "You missed lunch. I was feeling generous, so I flavored it for you."

"Thank you, my friend."

Severus glared. "Peacetime or not, you're no friend of mine. Just drink the blasted potion."

Remus took a gulp. "Oh—ugh, what is this 95% cacao?"

"Ninety-eight. Werewolves can't be choosers. Although if you're feeling that weak, you could ask Glazkov for some of hers. It's ginger vanilla."

"Ah, playing favorites as usual?"

Severus ordered himself to relax. "Glazkov is a child, a daughter of a prominent wizarding family, and one of my serpents. If a little ginger vanilla takes the sting out of a bad situation, made worse by upcoming celebrity and a lycanthropy curse, then I'll add it."

"It's true, then. You and Ivan Glazkov were fellow agents."

"Yes. He was the first to know Nagini was a horcrux, before even Dumbledore and Potter. He's fluent in Parseltongue, and his side of the family has been known to practice snake-based dark magic. We were working on antivenin together when…" Severus shook his head. "He's with the Oculus Vermiculo now, feeding them false information about us."

Lupin nodded. "Do you miss it? The double agent thing, I mean."

"This is not a pajama party in the Hufflepuff dorm. I chose my side, and if you, once again, refuse to accept it…"

"All right," Lupin cut him off. "Put the fangs away, Snivelus old boy. Well, I'd better get down to the castle for afternoon lessons—and check on Miss Frost. How is she doing, since you sliced her open like a fresh autumn apple?"

"Frost is much stronger than anyone else, including herself, realizes. She'll be fine."

"Are you certain? You might be the double agent, but we both know what you're carrying in that robe." Lupin raised his wand and undid the top three buttons nearest Severus' neck.

Severus practically leapt back, a black word on his tongue. "You're a fine one to talk, you son of a jackal. You plant the wrong thoughts in Frost's head—any of their heads—or lay a finger on any of them, it's me you'll answer to."

"Easy, Sev. You don't know what you think you do. We're here to protect Hogwarts, but we also both know, we're playing a delicate game here, and only one of us can win."

"Then watch your chessmen. Because, unlike every other time we've played together, I do not intend to lose."

 _Hogwarts Outskirts, Near Owlery_

"You're risking everything, meeting like this."

"Ah, now, now, Severus. Those who can't meet in broad daylight have something to hide."

"If Albus finds out you're on campus…"

A high, tittering giggle pierced Severus' nerves. "He's always known more than he lets on. He'll make a big show, call in the Aurors, but he's the one breaking the rules, not me. After all, he's the one who claimed to strengthen the wards when all he did was use a weak protection spell."

Severus shook his head. "You would make one lousy Order agent. At first I didn't know why Voldemort rejected you, but even he had common sense."

"Enough blathering. Did you get it?"

Severus reached into his pocket. "As promised."

"You're lucky your little protégé is so obedient. You're certain this is her blood?"

"Every drop. Test it."

The vial was tipped onto the ground. A whispery facsimile of Finola Frost's voice wafted up, singing something. Latin, he recognized, and English. Some hymn medley?

"Good. Now, remember what we agreed upon?"

"I agreed _with stipulations._ You're not to come near the girl."

"Oh, no, darling, never. I have the perfect agent in mind for that. And as long as you're a good little snake, I may not even have to use her. Now, you know the next thing I need, yes? And you'll have it to me by Halloween?"

Severus paused. A few months ago, he wouldn't have hesitated, but now, with Finola in the picture, and Monica…oh, Merlin, what would she think? Would she ever believe his explanation if he told her the truth? And what if Albus found out first? It would ruin him for good this time.

"Heh-hem?" his contact asked.

"Agreed," Severus ground out.

"Right answer. Ten lovely points to Slytherin."

"Go to hell."

"Oh, I think you'll get there far before I do."

His contact left him standing there on the outskirts of Hogwarts. Where he'd been as a student. Where he kept himself as a teacher. And now… He sighed. "Ah, what tangled webs we weave, when first we practice to deceive." He turned back toward the castle. At least one deception had worked out. Only one drop—the spilled one—had been Finola Frost's real blood. The rest, charmed of course, had belonged to a cooperative ice salamander.

"Ten points? You better make that a hundred, Dolores."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16:

 **A/N: No, Snape and Co. are not going to fall on their knees and pledge their life to evangelical Christianity while "Just as I Am" plays in the background. But I am drawing some lines based on my own faith, the Christian elements in Harry Potter, etc.**

 **There is** _ **no**_ **such thing as a "Christian Wiccan" or "Christian witch," if what you mean by that is invocational, non-fantastical magic. The characters here use incantational magic only; they do not summon spirits or use the occult. They are meant to be seen on a par with Christian figures of Narnia or Middle-earth, those who acknowledge Christ and His presence/works. If you want more info, message me, or check out John Granger's** _ **How Harry Cast His Spell**_ **and similar readings. Happy reading, y'all!**

 _Great Hall, Evening_

"Are you sure you're feeling okay, Anya?" Finola asked.

Anya hid her nails under her robe and rubbed her abdomen. "Better. Professor Snape wanted me to stay in the Hospital Wing until it was time to, ah, head downstairs, but I said I couldn't miss the test announcement. People would be more suspicious if I didn't show up. And besides, who better to help Hogwarts and represent Slytherin than someone who puts her weaknesses aside for the greater good?" She winked. "I got five points for that."

Finola checked the house point goblets. "You're closing in on Hufflepuff. And…" She squinted. "Yeah, looks like Ravenclaw's finally catching up."

"Thanks to the two of us. I guess after tonight, we'll have to give it our best for the House Cup and the school." Thalia Harrington touched Finola's shoulder as she sauntered by. "Good luck. I know how special winning would make you feel."

"Somebody ought to give that girl a good old-fashioned Muggle kick in the bum," Lily announced. "Finola, will you eat something?"

"Can't. It's all I can do to get Snape's nutrition potion down." Finola grimaced. "He's irritated with me because I'm not gaining weight like he wants. I told him I can't help it, you drop calories when you spend all day going up and down those stairs. And he goes, 'Well, Frost, no one ever told you to sprint. Harrington will have a field day if she realizes her opponent could be blown away with a good gust of wind.'" She stabbed a bite of baked potato, as if to prove a point. "He doesn't get it, and he never will. I'd rather be as fragile as spun sugar than a big, fat slob."

"Teachers. They're thick as bricks sometimes," Lily sympathized. "But at least have dessert, for the endorphins." She passed Finola a peppermint brownie. "Your favorite."

"Thanks." Finola slipped the treat to the edge of her plate and refocused on her salad. Only when she'd forced down most of her meal did she allow herself dessert. The crisp mint and rich chocolate hit her taste buds, and heart, like water on parched ground. She studied Dumbledore from under her lids. Was he in charge of the Gifted test? The Ministry of Magic? Someone else? Well, whoever it was, they could do their worst, as long as…

Dumbledore had risen from his chair and was striding to the front. Finola tapped Lily, who got Brenna's and Anya's attention. "Here we go, girls. One last petition?" They linked hands and sent up a quick, silent prayer. For what, Finola wasn't sure, but the butterflies in her stomach did calm down some.

"Attention," Dumbledore announced, hands raised. "Thank you. Now, at Hogwarts, we are pleased to turn out the most accomplished wizards and witches our world has ever known—with apologies to Ilvermorny, of course," he said, sending a wink Professor Swanson's way.

"It's cool," she said. "We can still kick your tail at Quidditch and Quodpot any day."

"Oooh," the student body intoned amid laughter. "Maybe they should take it outside," somebody called.

"But as you no doubt are aware," Dumbledore picked up, "we have four Gifted witches among us this year. They are, like the rest of you, here to learn and grow, but prophecy of old states, they are here to protect us from a new enemy. Some of you may know this enemy as the Oculus Vermiculo, or Crimson Eye."

Boos and hissing ensued. Whispers bounced around the room.

"Yes," Dumbledore intoned. "A network of Dark wizards and witches whose goal it is to purify all blood, regardless of status. To give half-bloods, Muggleborns, and Squibs what they seem to need or want most, while destroying souls. To turn our world not only into a war zone, but a killing field. But will we have it?"

"NO!" shouted the whole room. Even the dignified McGonagall and Snape looked as mad as Finola's dad did when he watched football and screamed at the ref.

"That's why our Gifted witches need your help and support. I've asked Rita Skeeter herself to be here on this important night. First, she will introduce our champions. Ladies, as your names are called, please come to the front."

"Rita Skeeter?" Finola rasped. "That—that media shark? How could Dumbledore even think…"

"Shhhh," Lily coached. "Don't give her what she wants."

"Yeah, think Slytherin," Anya whispered. "Cold. Unflappable."

"Thank you, Professor." Rita Skeeter had taken the platform, her lime green suit almost blinding under the light of hundreds of candles. "Let's start with the champion from your own incomparable house, and the home of The Boy Who Lived himself. She's a Northern Irish half-blood, a true Emerald Isle spitfire, and aces at Transfiguration. Rumor has it she can not only turn a ferret to a feather duster, but make that duster dance a jig. She loves Quidditch and has her eye on the Junior Varsity Beater position, so watch out! Ladies and gentlemen, Miss…Brenna…Kettleburn!"

Finola joined the others in applause, and had to smile at Brenna, who couldn't help glowing at the praise. But she also caught the determined glint in her friend's dark eyes. Rita Skeeter would get it in the kisser if she embellished any of what she'd just said—or anything else for that matter—in the paper.

"Moving on to the house of the loyal, just, and true, the ever-underestimated, but never defeated, Hufflepuff. Young wizards and witches, your champion from this House is a Herbology whiz whose touch with plants is truly magical. It's said she much prefers the company of animals and plants to people—but what she lacks in social confidence, she makes up for in points. Give it up for your very own legacy witch, lover of all living things and savior of Hogwarts herself, Miss…Lily…Corrigan!"

Lily blushed crimson, but to her credit, adjusted her French braid, tightened her Hufflepuff tie, and took her place next to Brenna with her head up. She gave the Hufflepuff table a little wave and bobbed a shy curtsy toward the professors' table. Finola relaxed when Longbottom gave her a thumbs-up back.

"And now, here's a champion no one expected, from the house filled with both darkness and light. It's said the Head of Slytherin House likes to keep us on our toes—you never quite know what he's planning," Rita deadpanned. Finola felt a thrill of satisfaction when almost nobody laughed.

"But not even Snape could've planned this," Rita went on. "She's the true jewel of Slytherin, a mysterious foreigner from a wealthy family, who's put all her energy into restoring the reputation of those with serpentine ties. She's a Potions prodigy, has earned straight O's from day one, and rivals the Queen in beauty and poise. She's also made great strides in changing the image of Slytherin, taking pity on a beleaguered schoolmate in need of shelter. Wizards and witches, I give you Miss…Anya…Glazkov!"

Anya's face remained blank, but she glided up to that platform like a Miss United States contestant. Her favorite necklace sparkled at her throat, and though she kept her hands hidden, she gave everyone a gracious nod. _She belongs up there,_ Finola thought. She glanced down at her palm. _And so do I. God, this is hard. Help me remember, and believe it._

"Last but not least, as you all know, Ravenclaw is the House that's going to bring a little competition to the table. Ravenclaw is the reason we need a test. Prophecy has singled out two potential witches for the fourth position. The first, another straight-O student, has wowed the Wizarding World for years. A Muggleborn with untold magic abilities, she's gifted in Charms and Defense, the top flier among Ravenclaw first years, and the gorgeous lady that locks up the Junior Miss _Witch Weekly_ competition every year. From our home country, give a round of applause to Miss…Thalia…Harrington!"

Thalia responded like a pro, gliding more smoothly than even Anya, waving to each table, and stopping to shake Rita's hand. She turned to face the Hall. "Thank you, Ms. Skeeter, professors, and friends. I will do my best to protect and serve Hogwarts, from the most uncertain Muggle to the pureblood mage from the oldest and most respected family."

 _Gag me with a shovel,_ Finola couldn't help thinking. The moment she did, she pressed her nails into her palms. _Easy, she didn't say anything wrong._

"And finally, Ravenclaw's second contender." Rita's voice pulled Finola back to the present. "I'd like you all to applaud a young woman who proves that just because you are down, it does not mean you are out. Her body might be somewhat non-functional, but her brain is as cunning and sharp as they come. She's a scrappy little thing who'll claw her way to this spot by any means necessary—Finola Frost."

Finola crossed the Great Hall as if on someone else's feet. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, and her vision blurred so only Rita Skeeter was clear. She squared her shoulders, put on her Sunday school smile, and aimed it at her fellow students, then the professors' table, drawing strength from her de facto parents. Swanson sent her a victory sign, while Snape gave an approving nod and shaped his mouth in a circle. Finola read the message— _Relax. Release the breath._ She obeyed and stepped into place next to Thalia.

"Your champions," Rita announced. "And now, I'm going to turn it back over to Professor Dumbledore to announce the test. Professor?"

Dumbledore launched into a speech, but Finola missed the majority. She was too focused on her friends, and the view from the center of the Hall. Now that the introductions were made, Brenna, Lily, and Anya were showing true feelings behind their smiles. Lily in particular looked vermillion and miserable, like a bachelorette at some kind of auction. Anya was wearing the cold, blank look Finola remembered from the days when she was an enemy—the look Finola now recognized as self-preserving. _Dear God, don't let anyone find out her secret. It would kill her—if the Ministry didn't do it first._ Brenna sent the other three supportive "hang in there" looks, but Finola noticed her real message— _Much more of this and I'm gonna vomit._

"Of course, giftedness also means well-roundedness." Dumbledore was finally getting to the point. "Each champion will perform for the student body, in her gifted area plus a randomly selected area from the core courses. Harrington and Frost will be pitted against each other, performing in the same randomly selected area. The Ravenclaw with the higher score, as determined by a guest panel, will win that phase of competition."

"In the second phase, the Gifted witches will show their ability to use the defining traits of the other Houses, in the name of unity and picking up each other's slack," Dumbledore continued. "Again, the matchups are selected at random. Ravenclaw may be tested in cunning, bravery, or toil. Hufflepuff, wit, cunning, or bravery. And so on. Again, Harrington and Frost will compete against each other for the higher score."

"The third phase is my favorite," Dumbledore announced, a twinkle in his eye. "Harrington and Frost, along with randomized matchups of the other three—will be dueling each other, in the name of showing off fighting strength and strength of brain and emotion against the Dark Arts." He gestured toward the professors. "Our own former double agent and war hero Professor Snape will provide prepatory instruction…"

Most of the Hall clapped politely, though the Slytherin table let loose with a few cheers. Finola's ears picked up a few whispers, mostly stuff like, "Whoa, I'm glad I'm not those five!"

"Joined by," Dumbledore continued, "a revered guest. Dueling instruction begins after Halloween, from Snape and the stupendous Professor Filius Flitwick!"

The entire Hall, especially the Ravenclaw table, erupted in applause, cheers, and whoops, until Dumbledore signaled for silence.

"Since there are four Gifted witches, there are four phases. But the fourth is…" He trailed off. "A well-kept secret. Not even your professors know—yet, and ladies, you won't know until test day. Now, a little housekeeping…"

"The first test will end the term, taking place three days from winter exams, the day before you board the train home for Christmas. This gives you almost eight weeks, so prepare accordingly. Test two will take place on the twenty-third of February. Test three, the duel, on March twenty-eighth. And phase four, in May, a week before end of term exams."

"As to the competition between Harrington and Frost, the professors and I have conferred with the guest panel to determine a fair scoring system. Professor McGonagall, would you like to explain the scoring for test one?"

The Deputy Headmistress stepped forward. "Thank you, Professor. Misses Harrington and Frost, your performance in a randomly selected subject will be graded as it would in class. Consonant grades are not used; the lowest you can get is an A. A grade of O is worth twenty-five points, and that number of points to Ravenclaw. An E grade will get you twenty points, an A, fifteen. The winner of the Gifted spot is the one closest to an overall score of 100 at the end of four tests. Other ladies—even though your spots are secure, do your best. Your grade will net you that number of points for your House. I trust you all will do us proud."

"Who's on the guest panel?" a seventh-year called.

"Myself, of course," Dumbledore said. "There are four others; the odd number prevents skewed scoring. But those other four—well, they will be surprises for all of you. I'm sure you'll be thrilled, and I'm sure we're all looking forward to a great tournament."

 _Ravenclaw Tower, 12:15 AM_

"No! No…let go of me, you reprehensible brutes! Let go of me… _aaaaauuugh!_ "

"Finola?" A hand shook her. "Finola, wake up. Wake up!"

Finola jolted awake. Still in the throes of the horrible vision, she reared back and slapped the shadow on her bed.

"Whoa! I pity the numpty who tries to duel you. Finola, listen. It's _me."_

"Wha—Holly? Holly! Oh my Lord, I am so sorry, I…"

"It's okay. I had a second-year puke on me once." Holly lit a lantern, and Finola collapsed against her pillow.

"Holly, it was awful. The things they said, the things they did…"

"Who? What happened?"

But the vision was too fresh. Finola shuddered, drew into herself with her hands over her face. "I'm going to fail, they'll…"

Holly rose. "I'm gonna get Professor Swanson."

"No—everyone will say—say I need a professor to fight for me. They'll call me a retard, a baby—"

"Nuts to what they call you, girl. You need help, and I'm going." Holly performed a Sticking Charm and left. Finola couldn't have moved if she wanted to.

"Finola." Professor Swanson rushed in, her royal blue Ravenclaw robe trailing her. She undid the charm and put an arm around her student. "Oh, honey, you're shaking all over. Come on. I'll make you a cup of tea and you can tell me everything."

"I—I must've woken the whole dorm."

"They'll get back to sleep. Right now, we need to take care of you. Watch these stairs—take my arm. There you go." Swanson led her into the Common Room, and they sat on the largest, softest sofa in the place. Swanson studied her.

"On second thought, this looks like a situation for decaf hot chocolate. Your eyes are so huge, I'd say you went a few rounds with a Boggart. Was that it, hon?"

Finola shook her head. "Worse. So much worse." She tried to hold the mug of cocoa Swanson gave her, but her hands shook too much. Swanson retrieved it and set the mug aside.

"Tell me. I won't spread it around, and you'll feel better."

Finola inhaled. "It was—the test. Thalia and I were tied, but Rita Skeeter found evidence that I cheated on everything. Dumbledore—he snapped my wand. Thalia and her friends, they were—ripping my robes, beating me up. And…and…" She sobbed. "A bunch of therapists and doctors were there. Mom and Dad, but I couldn't get to them. Mom was crying, saying I shamed the Frost family. My old teacher…and Dumbledore picked me up and threw me into this awful pit…when I woke up, I was in that horrible room. That dreadful room."

"What room? Finola, look at me. What room? Where were you?"

"I don't know. But it was—tiny. Like some cell, or cage. It smelled like—old food, pee—I don't know. I couldn't move. I couldn't talk. I was—filthy, I think I—used the bathroom on myself. The room was locked. I kept screaming. And Snape was outside, laughing, calling me names. He said I was a worthless retard."

Swanson drew Finola toward her. "He wouldn't do that. Not now. Can you drink a little?"

"I—yes."

"Okay. I'll be right back." Swanson crossed to the fireplace and pressed something on the side. "Severus, it's Monica. Great, you're still up. Yeah…yeah. Good. Yeah, tell her I hope she feels better soon. But I need you down here, pronto. Our de facto daughter has had the mother of all nightmares, and you made an appearance. M-hmmm, yeah. Right. The answer to the riddle for the night is 'A blackboard.' Got it."

 _A Few Minutes Later_

Finola might've laughed. Snape in pajamas was a sight that would make you give your right arm for a camera. They weren't anything too geeky or outrageous—just a matching Slytherin set. But her buttoned-up professor had stuffed his lank, greasy hair under a green nightcap, with one of those silly tassels. The pajamas themselves were probably a size too big. Over the whole mess, her professor had thrown a bathrobe that was silver at one time, but now looked more the shade of Dad's car-washing rag. His matching slippers were in similar condition, he sported a definite five o' clock shadow—and was that a chocolate smear around his mouth?

The smear reminded Finola of herself, filthy in the dream, and another sob escaped. Snape sat next to her, on the side Swanson wasn't using, and she prepared for him to tell her to toughen up. But his voice was gentle.

"I know. I can only imagine how that nightmare looked through your eyes—it seems horrific in my imagination." He put an arm across her shoulder. "Frost, I am sorry. What I did—what I've done. It traumatized you more than either of us realized."

"It's not you. I forgave you and I meant that. It's…"

"That other teacher," Snape filled in. "Truly, Frost, what did she say to you? Who could be worse than me?" He chuckled.

"I can't tell you. You'll find her and hurt her."

"No. For your sake, for now, I'll stay my hand."

"My folks know some, but not everything. She used to tutor me in math. If I got something wrong, she said—things. I told her I'd tell my parents, and she said if I did, she'd tell them I was a rebellious little brat. She said stuff like, 'Do you know what happens to brats? They get put in kids' jail, and then group homes. You'd never see your parents again. I bet your own daddy would put you in jail.'" Finola sobbed again. "She was always saying things like that, saying I was bad, and rebellious, and a poor excuse for a Christian, and—stuff. She said I didn't try hard enough, that I was helpless, and fat, and retarded. She never did it when other people were around. And she'd say, 'Who are they gonna believe, me, or a kid who manipulates to get her way?'"

"Reprehensible," Snape breathed. "Frost, I know it's hard, but keep talking. We need to know."

"Severus, don't do this to her," Swanson protested.

"No, it's okay," Finola insisted. "I'll tell."

"That's our brave girl," Snape said. "Now, did this woman ever touch you in any way?"

"Not—like that. But—one day before lunch, we had Bathroom, like we usually did. I'd been having trouble with the stall locks, so she—made me go in the handicapped stall. The toilet was so high, I could barely—and she stood there in the stall. She made me go in front of her."

"She'd say I was hateful, disrespectful, didn't care about anyone but myself. She said, 'I am not a pack mule and my classroom is not special education. I am not here as your personal servant. There are kids drooling and messing on themselves, and they need help. Shape up unless you want to be treated like them.'"

"And she did—push me one time. My class had gone Christmas caroling to this—nursing home, and I guess I wasn't walking fast enough, because…" Sobbing took over.

"I'm sorry," Finola wept. "I know it's weak. And wrong."

"No," Snape contradicted. "I gave you that impression, and yes, emotions must be controlled. But sometimes…"

"You've been hurt. You go on, you cry." Swanson hugged her, held her. "There, there."

 _Later_

Relief swept through Monica at her student's even breathing. "She's exhausted."

"Let's get her up to bed," Severus whispered. "First corridor on the right?"

"M-hmmm."

Severus lifted Frost from the couch. She had more meat on her bones, but still, he could've carried her to Hogsmeade and back without breaking a sweat. Monica followed into the dorm room, easing Frost out of Severus' arms and onto the mattress. Wordlessly, she charmed the tangle of covers straight and pulled them up to their de facto daughter's chin. Then she waved her wand again.

"She's not starting the day with the memory of that nightmare," Monica whispered. "A few minutes, and she'll be in the safest, happiest place she can imagine."

"The British Library, perhaps?" Severus joked. He studied Frost, shook his head. "How could anyone speak to a child that way? On my worst day, I'd never…it's disgusting. And to think, she didn't even believe she was safe telling her parents." He shook his head. "Monica, what if we're in over our heads? What if I can't heal her?"

"We can't. But she's resilient. And she's got the best Healer ever on her side." Monica gestured upward.

Severus groaned.

"Monica…"

"No, listen. I've been reading my Bible, and about Christian mages in places like Narnia. I think we—the wizarding world—we've got it all wrong. God is here. He accepts all who repent, wizard or Muggle. He's there for us, and Finola, too."

"If He cared about Finola, why did He let that Muggle harpy destroy her?"

"I don't know. Bad things happen to good people, we know that. But Finola is His child, and He's got her back. If we ask Him, He'll help us, too. Just ask."

Severus broke his own rules and shrugged. He turned, noticed Frost still had her spectacles on. He eased them away from her face, set them on top of a small stack of books with a little "clink," and smoothed damp hair away from her forehead.

"I must get back to Slytherin. Miss Glazkov is—ill. Poppy's with her, but she may need me."

"Of course. Good night."

 _Outside Slytherin_

"I'm no good at praying. I hardly know what it is. And the plain truth is, I want nothing to do with You. If You're anything like my father and his vicar described, you're not on anyone's side, let alone mine."

"But on the off chance Monica and the Gifted girls are right—God in Heaven, I need your help. I can't teach my students without being a Gorgon. I can't shake the Dark Arts or the past completely. And now…Frost. Dear God, why? Why do you let it happen? That teacher, the Dursleys, the Marauders stripping and assaulting me for everyone to see…" Severus threw a branch into the distance with a frustrated roar.

"We'll settle that score later, I suppose. But for now—God, help me. I'm not up to repentance yet, whatever that means to You. But please, look past everything. Look past the Death Eater, the greasy git of the dungeons, and—help me help that precious, innocent child."


End file.
